


Torn

by dummiE3M



Series: Silver Thread [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Being Lost, Blood and Gore, Clueless White Wolf in the East, F/M, Making Love, Monsters, Serious Injuries, Zerrikania Misadventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22085017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummiE3M/pseuds/dummiE3M
Summary: A Sequel to Bound.......Ciri is currently staying at Kaer Morhen and trains in the witcher's art under the care of Vesemir.Geralt arrived in Novigrad after a week-long sail from Skellige.The frequent appearance of the Wild Hunt worried everyone.And some strange occurrences of brief-conjunctions might lead to something more.......Welcome back! my old readers and new ones.Let's get back to GeraltxCiri in an AU where Geralt NEVER tied his fate to Yennefer in Rinde.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Silver Thread [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581460
Comments: 30
Kudos: 102





	1. The Path

**Author's Note:**

> Ready for another ride? hop on and enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day in the lives of linked ones.  
> One almost bored to death, figuratively.  
> One almost claws to death, literally.
> 
> Welcome back to the Silver Thread again.  
> Enjoy and feel free to comment, I need a friend to talk to anyway.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**The Path.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Ciri always thought Geralt’s training was hard and she was proud of herself for mastered his teaching in a span of five months.

She realized now that those were merely a soft-serve compared to what she got herself into at Kaer Morhen.

12 hours of constant training; physicals, breathing techniques, running obstacles, body flexibility and the dangerous Pendulum Geralt terrorized her about all the time back when they stayed at Kaer Trolde.

But the deadliest of all and would surely be the death of her, are tomes reading and just sitting for hours on end listening to Vesemir.

Ciri groans tiredly, crawling herself along the corridor of the inner hall looking for the kitchen and the other two witchers presented here; Eskel and Lambert.

The smell of steaming stew guided her towards the other two as they sat lazily in their chairs, munching whatever meat in their bowls; especially Lambert who appeared to be affected by the cold more than anyone on the whole Continent.

“Hey, birdy! Want some?” at least she and the swampy-mouth did not try to strangle one another anymore, Ciri takes that as a sign of victory.

“Boy, do I? get me two and keep it coming, furry.” Ciri quips back but her snark lacks many things, including the strength to stand straight as her knees keep shaking and fatigues ache her whole body.

“Now, now. We still have snowstorms to get through. Just get one and I will sneak some bread for you, kid.” Eskel chimed in from his position opposite her, pointing and waving with his wooden spoon.

“Fine by me.” Ciri said as she slowly lowered herself on a vacant chair facing the hearth, exhales loudly as her body finally get some comforts since the break of dawn.

It was a month now that she arrived here, every day Vesemir would start her training since the first ray of sunshine breaks the cloud at the horizon.

Eskel takes the role of her sparring partner after the first day she showed them all the basics Geralt ingrained into her and she got passed the dummy into real combat. The black-haired witcher rivaled Geralt in both experiences and skills.

Lambert was more efficient in alchemy and chemistry, Ciri learned a great deal from him.

Vesemir covered the rest. His methods were unforgiving from time to time as he loves to push her to the limit but outside of his duty, he’s a funny old man; Lambert told her once that Vesemir might be as old as the keep itself.

She lived with them, eat what they ate, meditates with them, laughs with them over some jokes Lambert got from his time on the Path, Pranks Vesemir with the other two just for the fun of it. Little by little they made her forget how her life was before all of this; how to walk gracefully as a crowned princess to the throne of Cintra, how to present herself in front of courtiers or how to behave like a lady at all.

At first, she thought someone might make a move on her, according to Geralt witchers have heightened libido but after she met with them in the hall it was Lambert’s comment that embarrassed her the most.

“ _Pretty boy’s scents are all over her. She’s his, no two ways about it._ ”

As if, somehow, Geralt marked his territory on her and to be honest she quite like the idea.

Which made nighttime the worst.

Vesemir assigned her to Geralt’s quarter; the entire top floor of the northern wing of the castle, the center of it has the biggest hearth she has ever seen and the view overlooking the mountain pass from the balcony is breathtaking, his spare shirts and pants store in the trunk alongside the king-sized oak-frame bed. Everything in the trunk smells like him and that fact alone makes her heart ached for his absence.

Now though, the steaming bowl of stew and the extra bread from Eskel are what she cares about.

Ciri eats the food with happiness as the tastes and its aromatic scent enveloped her in a warm embrace, sighs contently as her stomach is being filled. Lambert is still shaken despite he’s nearest to the raging fire from the fireplace. And Eskel lounging comfortably on the bed he moved there himself.

Ciri observes the two witchers, they act like normal people most of the time, except for when they show their superior physical capability as they move something or working with dangerous tasks normal humans might not be able to.

Her bowl was empty when the moon appears from behind the peak of the Blue Mountains, setting the bowl down into the large washing tub and saying goodnight to all witchers she makes her way toward the stairs. Ready to drop herself onto the bed and sleep for the whole night.

Ciri doesn’t have to bath every day, that’s one thing she was grateful for that no one might ranting about etiquettes and herds her to the bathtub.

Ciri stripped off her worn shirt, his shirt, and slipped into a new one and laced them loosely around her form. The tight pants, that surprisingly the seams never break even once, are on the floor now.

Ciri walked toward the big hearth at the center of her quarter, let the heat from the fire warming her up.

“Come home, Geralt…” she whispers to the flame as if somehow her plea would reach his ears, wherever he is right now.

The girl sighs with resignation and headed back to the bed, hugging herself under the blanket to sleep.

...

 _《_ _One month earlier._ _》_

Geralt stepped down from the plank and heading to the Golden Sturgeon. The witcher spread his awareness around himself, trying to detect some unfriendly presences that might be awaiting his return.

As he passed by the Crippled Kate’s some whores waving and whistling at him, Geralt smirks as he disregards their advances; not when he had merely enough to buy a new Roach and some supplies for the journey like this.

Geralt entered the establishment, locals filled the place as usual and he heading directly to the clerk’s stall.

“Welcome, how can I help ya?” the middle-aged man asks out from behind the curtain of dried fishes.

“An ale.” Geralt gravel tone shot towards him and the clerk nods. Soon after a mug of cool ale set in front of him.

“Looking for work, witcher?” the tone doesn’t hold any grimace or disgust he so used to, but Geralt paid no mind to it as he takes a mouthful.

Geralt grunts ‘hmm’ out as he set the mug down, wipes his mouth with his bare hand.

“There are some folks says strange noises came from the sewers, might take up to the guvnor.” The clerk continues and hollers to his helping hands “Oi! More beers for table number three and Bea? Come here, sweety.”

Geralt continues enjoying his ale and look sideways, one redhead approaches the stall, Bea he supposed, in an apron and adorable freckles adorning her nose and cheeks, might be a bit older than Ciri if he should guesses.

“Tell Hans to prepare the brown mare, this witcher will be taking ‘er.” The clerk ordered and the girl disappeared through the backdoor.

Geralt turns his questioning expression towards the clerk. The man behind the stall just clear his throat and said “Master Pankratz booked ‘er for you a week ago, said that a witcher with brooding nature and long white-hair would come to take it.”

Geralt snorts and just nodding his head, gulped all the remaining ale down his throat and set the mug on the stall.

“Will you be needing anything else?” the clerks offer.

Geralt grab a small pouch of orens and throw it at the waiting hands of the human, the clerk checks the content and seems very satisfied.

“Aside from the ale and the mare, get me a journey supplies from the rest.” Geralt grunt out, keeping his brood mannerism to the top shelf.

…

Geralt stopped in front of the Rosemary and Thymes, as instructed by Bea that Jaskier would be awaiting him here. The tavern’s entrance has three goons stands as not so subtle guard dogs.

“Oi, who goes there?” one that seems to be in charge asks about when Geralt tied Roach’s rein at the post opposite of them.

The witcher lowered his hood and sees the other two stepped back, hands hovering over their axes’ handles. His glowering cat eyes make their hair stands on end but the leader of the three still firmly on his position.

“Just came here to see a friend.” Geralt said.

“Whoreson doesn’t want any trouble in his establishment, white hair. Best behave, eh?” the shorter man speaks up to him, Geralt quirk a brow.

The witcher said nothing more and walked pass the trio into the tavern.

Geralt expected Jaskier to perform on the stage, not sitting on a table with who he assumes to be this ‘Whoreson’; judging from the four unfriendly faces that stood behind him.

They seem to be talking business, rarest of all peculiar scenarios he has seen in life and his trade of witchering consists around monsters and curses. Not to mention the collection of ‘toys’ in Yennefer’s possession.

“I assured you, Mister Wiley, that my associate is worth every coin of gold we agreed on.” Jaskier tries so hard to appear confident.

“Yet it is three days already and my men have never seen even a shadow of him.” Wiley retorts with annoyances and a trace of short temper frequent in crime lords and vagabonds.

“It just an unfortunate hiccup, that’s all! When he’s here your problems will be gone in a jiffy, mark my word.” Jaskier negotiates again, still not notice Geralt standing behind him.

“What the fuck are you getting me into this time, Jaskier?” Geralt nearly growls out and sees Jaskier almost jump out of his own body in surprise.

Jaskier laughing out when he saw Geralt’s face, for both missing his friend and also get out from under Whoreson’s death threats.

“Finally, Geralt! Come now, let us talk business.” Jaskier practically yanked the witcher down beside him.

…

“Any thoughts?” Jaskier asks when Geralt was done with the autopsy, the bard stomach protests again as the stench of blood seeps out from the inside.

Geralt hums and leads the way towards the shoreline intends to let Jaskier regain some strength and himself some time to concludes.

“Vampire, Ekimmara from the wound on the neck.” Geralt said.

Jaskier has a baffled look on his face “Vampires are real? I thought they were a myth.” Jaskier whispered dramatically while waving his fingers around.

“Just as you thought dragons were once and then you sat there and talked with the rarest of them all? Yeah, they were rarely seen up north but they are real.” Geralt quips back while walking toward the entrance of the sewer.

“Why is that though? If you don’t mind me asking?” Jaskier followed him.

Geralt stops and looks back over his shoulder, brows raise “And if I say that I do mind?”

“I’ll nag you to tell me anyway.” Jaskier grin widely, Geralt sighs with annoyance and amusement. Setting down his gear at the entrance and facing Jaskier.

“Vampires prefers a humid environment, the average temperature of these regions is just not suited to their liking.” Geralt answered while taking out his silver, the only sword he possesses now that his steel is with Ciri, along with three of his various potions and resumes “That’s why most cases of their sighting including caves located near subterranean thermal spots, elven ruins and apparently, Novigrad’s sewers.” He finished with shrugging shoulders.

Jaskier forms an ‘O’ with his mouth as he contemplates details given by the witcher; his friendship with Geralt doesn’t just elevate his fame or income it is also very educational.

Geralt pour violet thick-liquid into a washcloth and signals Jaskier to get a nearby torch for him.

When the bard handed the lit torch towards the witcher Geralt grab it and hold it in his hand for a moment, the fire slowly died down and Jaskier watched as the hardwood rotten and crumbles in the witcher’s hand.

The witcher bends his left-hand fingers into odd angles and lets out a steady stream of fire that heating up the silver blade quickly.

When the alloy gleaming soft orange in color Geralt stopped his _Igni_ and let the blade cooling down, then he uses the soaked cloth to excessive greasing the entire length of the blade.

“What’s that?” Jaskier can’t help but lowered himself at Geralt’s side, watching the witcher works.

“Vampiric oil, stop the clotting of their blood and also slowing their regeneration.” Geralt explains while his hand still moving in a steady rhythm.

“Did the legends about them were true? Garlic and stakes and all that.” Jaskier questioned again.

“The only thing that works on them is silver or powerful elemental magic. Silver poisoned their blood and kills any cells at contact; injuries caused by silver will be there forever unless they cut the dead fleshes off.” Geralt answers sincerely.

“Whew! That’s a lot of sciences.” Jaskier exclaims as he stood up and turns around, then asks again “What could I do? Anything you need in particular?”

Geralt lost in thought for a moment and then answers his bard friend when he flips the blade to greasing another side “Informs the city guards to seal off any entrances they can find, including this one and throw away the key. Find me a bowl of blood, animals would be fine but human if possible, and Mahakam spirit.” Geralt settled into his usual meditation position.

Jaskier memorized them and adds “Anything else?”

“Prepare a doctor for when I came out, might be in pretty bad shape.” Geralt said out cold and calmly, evening his breathing after he ingests a vial of Black Blood.

Jaskier was about to set off when Geralt calls to him again “And Jaskier. DO NOT let anyone in after me.” With that Geralt entered his meditative state immediately.

…

 _《_ _Present._ _》_

Ciri averts her eyes from the tome she’s reading and scan the room for Vesemir, the master snoring happily on his rocking chair.

“Master Vesemir?” there is no indication that the old witcher heard her.

“Master Vesemir!” Ciri raises the volume a bit, but Vesemir is snoring still.

“Uncle Vesemir!” this time Ciri approach the elder and yelling at his side, Vesemir nearly fall off the chair in his surprised state.

“What the hell, Ciri?” Vesemir slowing his ragged breathing, try to compose.

“I have questions!” Ciri fidgeting on her spot.

“Couldn’t you ask a bit quieter? My ears still ring like a bell.” Vesemir chided her and groans.

“You were asleep! I called you two times already.” Ciri exclaims. Vesemir looked at her but finds only honesty painted on her face.

The oldest man in the room sighs and gestured her to continue.

“I read about Higher Vampires, I was wondering about how to kill them because there’s no indication in the tome only how to identify ones.” Ciri sat down at the witcher’s feet, hugging her knees to her chest.

Vesemir chuckles and clears his throats, then explains “Higher Vampires is one of the things we witchers don’t know how to ‘kill’. They are immortal, in every sense of the word, Along the history of us since the first witcher to emerged from the trials there was no report of such feat done by any witchers. Only one witcher had been able to incapacitate one by chopped it down to pieces, but decades later the vamp resurface and took revenge on him.” Ciri got chills running up her spinal cord.

“That’s the reason why the tome have only ways to identify such monsters, because if you realize you found one? The only thing left to do is run away.” Vesemir said in a dark and cool tone that makes Ciri shaking in her spot.

“But fortunately for us, Higher Vampires do not bother humans, they don’t need blood to sustain their lives and they were somewhat civilized enough to coexist with other races, as peacefully as they can.” Vesemir finished the tale and notices Ciri’s still shaken form.

…

 _《_ _One month earlier._ _》_

Geralt slowly stalking deeper along the tunnels, following the scents of rot and blood that surround the section of the sewers.

He is having a hard time separates scents from his own mixture of vampire bait; like a miracle worker, Jaskier managed to bring him a bowl of human blood and a bottle of Mahakam spirit. The witcher mixed them together and pouring it all over his body, soaked himself in strong-alcohol and blood.

Geralt cautious with every step he takes, vampires are the hardest to deal with. They blend with their nest perfectly and some sub-species even able to tricked witcher’s medallion.

Geralt doesn’t have a chance to even braces himself for the impact when the Ekimmara pounces onto him, fangs and claws extended.

Geralt hit the ground hard as his instinct brought his forearm to prevent its fangs to sink into his neck while his other arm directed his silver to lodge in between the beast’s ribcages.

The vampire howls painfully as it swipes forcefully into the witcher’s side, planted three deep gashes into his flesh, and jumping off.

But as he prepared himself beforehand, the effect of Swallow that circulating his vascular forced the wounds to sealed shut and stop the bleeding. Geralt was quickly fallen into his defensive stance as the wounded Ekimmara circles him.

“How do you like that silver?” Geralt regain his breathing as he kicks out any aches he felt and skips to the beast. The vampire sidestepped but the witcher quickly shot _Aard_ as its center of mass, the beast staggered and Geralt sees the opening.

He moves in like a viper strike its prey, accurate and fast that leave a punctured wound on an Ekimmara torso. The beast roar again but Geralt doesn’t let his opportunities go to waste, he supported the silver with his other hand as he twisted his hips and swing a deadly arc from downward aimed at the beast’s belly.

But the Ekimmara is too fast as it stepped out of the way, Geralt’s cut left a shallow gash instead of disemboweling it as intended.

The momentum of his failed cut carried him on as the Ekimmara strikes again, Geralt lowered himself and flipping the grip of his sword then thrusting the blade in a half-circle and stuck deeply into its diaphragm.

The Ekimmara slashes while growling bloodily and caught the witcher on his chest armor, cutting through the cured leather like butter.

Geralt gritted his teeth to fight against the pains and drive his blade deeper with all of his might as if Fortuna was favored him; his silver blade did stays in his hands when the Ekimmara threw the witcher off and impact hard onto the walls.

The poisons from his preparation affected the vampire as they should; the Ekimmara bleeding heavily and do not seems to heal anything at all. Geralt coughs blood onto the flowing sewage water and readying his blade again.

His left-side vision reddened from his damaged capillary. Geralt’s breathing heavily as he felt his ribcages fractured and some bone chips might be piercing his lung.

The Ekimmara hesitates due to its injuries, Geralt difficultly unclasped the Moon Dust bomb off his belt and throw it as hard as he could at the vamp.

It explodes and covers the Ekimmara with a heavy cloud of silver dust. The beast howling in pain and irritation at the way its skins sizzles all over. Geralt let Swallow mend his inside for a moment and then he launches at the beast again.

…

The guards use the torch to shine light into the dark tunnel as soon as they heard footsteps echoing off the walls.

The witcher staggered himself toward the gate and the shining light with all the strength he can muster. As an Ekimmara’s head been dragged behind him by the silver hook and a rope.

Jaskier shouts at them to open the gate and hurried in to drag the witcher out of the sewers.

“May I have space to work, please.” Geralt register a calmed tone of the individual that hovered over him, strong scents of herbal remedies took over his nostrils.

“Geralt, come on friend. Stay with us!” that was Jaskier frantic and panicked voices.

“I can tend these fatal wounds here but it would be best to get him somewhere more…sanitizer.” The supposed doctor said while busying with his bleeding injuries.

“The…orange potion…Swallow.” Geralt croaks out and the doctor follows his instruction, slowly feeding him the potion.

“You’ll be fine, witcher. You have my word.” The doctor said reassuringly at him “My name is Emiel Regis, you will be alright.

At that Geralt’s consciousness is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, That's mister barber-surgeon Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.


	2. Of Fangs and Forktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri passed the training and about to begins her first real hunt.  
> Geralt gains a new crew on their traveling trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Explicit sensual sex scene ahead, Enjoy***

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Of Fangs and Forktail.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

_The sights are familiar; the top floor of the northern wing, amber hue plastered the stone walls and gave off warming air, his oak-frame bed is still at the same spot._

_But the only strange sight is that on his bed, Ciri laid on her side facing the direction of the hearth. Geralt slowly walking towards her as her sleeping face both mesmerizing and quenching his aching heart._

_He missed how her soft ashen-tresses felt under his nose and his calloused palms._

_He missed her intoxicating scents that haunt him night and day._

_How he longed for her starry-emerald eyes that triumphed a stars-filled night sky._

_How soft her ivory skins contrast with a map of scars adorning her firm muscles and ignites fires in his core._

_Geralt sat down on the mattress, taking her details to engraved into his mind; her blouse is still the one she wore on Skellige, her cheeks have streaks of dried tears on them._

_The witcher wipes them with his thumb, Ciri stirs awake at the contact of his warm finger._

_Ciri smile sleepily and slurs “Hey, there…” and lean into his touch._

_Geralt smile at her and lowered his lips onto her temple, whispers to her ears softly “Me Feainn.” And kisses her again and again._

_Ciri giggles tiredly as she turns her lips toward his, their breathes mingles and formed a familiar scent of hot air that both of them craved for since the last time on the bed in Kaer Trolde. Their kisses stretched on for eternity, melting the White Wolf and the Swallow into one._

_Ciri gains more control as she deepened the passionate acts and tugs the collar of his shirt, dragging him down to the mattress, positioning his hardened muscled body underneath her lithe one. Purring like a leopard into his mouth as she felt his calloused hands firmly on her buttocks, squeezing them teasingly._

_Their eyes met and she forgets their surroundings, focuses only on the warmth of his golden-amber orbs._

_“I’ve missed you so much.” Geralt voices vibrate through her skin as he trails wet kisses down from her jaws toward her collarbones, Ciri arches into him even more and mewling to the sensations caused by them._

_Ciri grinds her groin into his, feeling his bulge throbs with each stroke of her eager folds encasing the mound of him through the torturous fabrics. Geralt growls into the valley of her breasts and bucking his hips upward to meet her desires._

_The witcher’s hands leave her butts and go under the hem of her blouse, tugging and gathered them in his hands then taking the blouse off above her head while keeping his hands on her supple skins all the time._

_Ciri feeling excited and shivering at his calloused hands roaming all over her naked top. Her white lace panties it the only barrier she has left, her skin flushes pink and Geralt uses his superior strength to positioned her on his face._

_Ciri moans long and wantonly at the way his tongue tasting and playing with her soaked entrance, his nose brushes her clit now and again and Ciri couldn’t help but to grinding on his face. Her juices gleaming all over._

_She felt his hands leave her hips and about to protest when she distantly heard a sound of his pant’s laces been loosen and untied._

_Geralt spun her on his face and she is face to face with his bulging and throbbing shaft, precum adorned the head of the impressive girth. The witcher uses his hands to firmly tracing the length of her spine from the base to the top, resulting in her dried lips lowering onto his erected member._

_Geralt growls into her pussy as Ciri brave a licking at his slit, the girl’s warm tongue nearly makes him buckles up into her throat but his self-control takes care of the urge._

_Ciri tastes his juice in her mouth and with newfound courage, wrapping her wet lips around the tip of his throbbing cock. Sucking softly._

_Geralt countered the act by returning the favor, sucking on the budding nerve at her apex, Ciri buck hard onto him and a moan vibrates around the tip of his cock._

_His hands now grabbing her soft mane as he slowly guiding her mouth to swallowing him inch by inch, eliciting guttural moans from the depth of him._

_Ciri happily lets him push her down deeper and deeper until at half of his length Ciri produces a gagging sound as he still applies pressure to force her down._

_Geralt felt the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and he relaxing her up the swallowed girth. When he guided her to the tip Ciri release his member in a wet plop then swatting his hands away. She goes down along the tendon with her tongue and Geralt couldn’t stop a moan from his mouth._

_He sped up his thumb that plays with her clit while the flat of his tongue lapping at her eager and wet folds madly. Ciri mewls and moans all the time as she stroking his length with her firm grip and sucking the tip tentatively._

_As Ciri shuddering and riding the waves of her orgasm off, Geralt flips them both and now hovering on top of her, his throbbing member poking at her inner thighs._

_Ciri forces her vision back and hooking her arms behind his neck, spreading her legs apart as an invitation then bucking her hips upwards aiming her wet folds to grazes his sensitive head._

_She cranes her neck to kisses him deeply again, filled with passion and longing. Then she whispers into his mouth “Love me.”_

_Geralt grunt an affirmation and position his length in place, nudging at the virgin’s entrance. With another encourage whispers from Ciri, he finally lodged deeply inside her._

_Ciri bites hard down on his shoulder to stifle her yelps of pain, searing pain mixed with pleasure entered her as he retreats and thrust into her again. This time the two moans in synchronize as Ciri’s walls have enveloped the full length of Geralt’s hot flesh._

_Feeling stuffed as the witcher let his rock-hard shaft nestled inside for a short while, Ciri tries to hook her ankles behind him but Geralt uses both of his arms to position the back of her knees in the crook of his elbows._

_Ciri yelps again as Geralt retract his member all the way to the tip and thrusting back in again, with the new position he adjusted her into, the head of him hit her cervix._ _Ciri’s breathing goes ragged as Geralt starts fucking her deep._

_Geralt grunts loudly as he starts to set the pace, rhythmically pushing her hard into the worn mattress. Ciri can only moan in ecstasy as she felt all of her bones melt and her muscles turned to jelly whenever Geralt hit the very end of her tunnel._

_After minutes Geralt seems to find the perfect spot, Ciri nearly screams in pleasures as his every move shot jolts of lightning through her whole body, shuddering underneath his relentless thrusts._

_Geralt adjusts them so that he is spooning Ciri from behind and somehow his thrust managed to go deeper and hitting more nerves, Ciri is now a flailing mess in the witcher’s merciless lovemaking that rocked her back and forth like a ragdoll._

_Their moans and curses filled the space of his quarter, the two of them do not remember anything than their joined bodies._

_Ciri starts to gain some control over her melted sweaty and flushed body, hooking an arm around his neck as she begins to countering his thrusts with her own. Geralt splayed his hand flat on her stomach while the other hooking at her neck, caressing and squeezing her firm breast and nipple. His experienced touches sent her to high-heaven as she increased the speed and force behind her backward thrusts of hips to collides her backside into his hipbones, hoping to take even the last centimeters of him._

_His splayed hands trailing down her navel while keeping his thrusts true and quickening the pace after Geralt felt his climax building up. His fingers found her swollen bud and amplified her pleasures by playing with them with each frantic thrust he rocked into her vagina._

_Ciri couldn’t hold in the ecstasy screams anymore as she growls out like an animal in heat as each thrust of Geralt goes beyond her cervix, sending huge surges of ecstasy through her whole body._

_As her witcher gain more speed and became ruthless his length somehow felt bigger and longer, if she would guess, now the tip of his cock goes in and out of her uterus already._

_Geralt sped up his fingers accommodated the speed of his thrusting, Ciri cries out loud between moans of pure pleasures._

_And then as the lithe girl thrashing widely in front of him, her cramping fleshes finally destroy the dam walls. Waves of orgasms hit them both, Geralt gave one final thrust of his hips and lodged deeply passed her cervix then flooded her uterus with his seeds._

_Ciri’s shuddering slowly subsides and her panting changed into moans via a new wave of ecstasy created by the warmth and fullness she felt inside her._

Geralt jolts awake when he felt a cold syringe pierces his skin.

“Glad to see you awake, witcher. Although the moans and the movements you projected while you were asleep are quite…unnecessary.” The voices of the doctor, Emiel Regis, came from where the insertion has been made.

Geralt groans, feeling somewhat embarrassed and dying from the aches he felt on his chest and wherever that blasted Ekimmara struck him.

“Your mutations are quite fascinating, I might say, with this kind of internal hemorrhage and many bacteria in that sewers making their breeding ground inside your wounds must have killed anyone already.” Emiel said while secreting the content of the syringe into his vascular system.

“What are you doing?” Geralt felt weaker than to do something against it.

“Stimulate mixture, all the wounds have been tended and stitched but you’ve lost so much blood, even your body cannot possibly resupply them in time.” The doctor said to him, taking the syringe out slowly “I took the liberty to studied your potion, Swallow, and made a breakthrough!” Emiel smile at him cheerily, like some toddler that discovered a new set of toys “The stimulate agent I just gave you will resupply the resources for your body to starts regenerate on its own.” Emiel finished with a reaffirmed touch on his shoulder, patting and stood up.

“Where are my things?” Geralt asks after the mixture works the magic, his torn muscles begin mending and knitting themselves sending a familiar unease sensation through him.

Jaskier entered the room with a look of relief on his face, nearly collapse down on the floor when he sees Geralt alive and brooding as ever “Thanks mother Melitele! I thought you were dead, my dear friend! Wow, such a relief.” Jaskier has a nag for theatric as ever while waving elaborately in front of him.

“Yeah, so it seems…where are my gears?” Geralt asks again, directed at the bard.

“Oh, here. Hate to break it to you but your armor is a tattered leather right now.” Jaskier only handed him his silver in its leather bag, along with his potion satchel and a torn piece of his once witcher’s armor.

“Great.” Geralt grunts out and take only the functioning gears.

Geralt slowly draws his silver out of the bag, inspecting it under the candlelight Emiel has lit inside the operating space and as soon as Emiel gets closer Geralt swiftly places the tip of his blade under the doctor’s chin. Jaskier produces sounds of surprises at his friend’s action but makes no move towards Geralt.

“What are you doing here, be honest, Higher Vampire.” Geralt growls out.

“Impressive deductive skills you have, witcher, but I assured you that what I said beforehand were all true.” Emiel uses his finger to swayed Geralt’s sword out of the way, Jaskier heard faint sizzles as soon as the doctor’s skin touched the silver blade. Geralt keeps pressure onto his weapon against the Immortal’s pushing hand.

“You knew well that my kind is not an unthinking beast, we do not kill for food nor pleasure. I merely here to meet with a renowned doctor stationed in the city, hoping to learn more things about medical arts.” Emiel said with sincere and pacing away from Geralt, Jaskier keeping distance from the higher vampire as much as he could and making his way behind Geralt.

Geralt keeps his sword up for a while then dropped it to his side, exhales loudly with resignation. Then laid back down onto the mattress.

“Do what you must, but if I ever caught wind about a bloodsucker rampaging and finds out it was you…I will make you regret the day you lied to me.” Geralt growls out and closing his eyelids, falling into a deep sleep and let his mutated body healing itself.

“I shall hold you to that, Witcher.” Emiel bows slightly towards the witcher.

Jaskier concluded from the interaction between the two, he follows the higher vampire out of the room. Intend to starts a new interesting friendship.

…

 _《_ _Present._ _》_

Ciri chirping happily when she strapped Geralt’s sword onto her back and inhaling the cold air surrounding Kaer Morhen.

Last night relaxed her beyond imaginable, she first had dreamt a lucid dream of Geralt and herself in his bed at the seventh night she arrived here, everything felt so real, every nerve inside her memorizes each touches his dream-self planted on every inch of her skins, the warmth he left inside her very core when they’ve reached their climax.

Ciri shaking herself out from recalling the vivid dream and heading towards the main gate of the courtyard where Vesemir is waiting for her with two mares and a bag of supplies.

Ciri was always excited to finally go on a real hunt, in a vast and dangerous forest of the Blue Mountains. Vesemir volunteered himself as her overseer when Eskel and Lambert outright refused.

“Sleep well?” Vesemir asks with a smirk and his brows raise. Ciri blushes heavily when she deducted the real meaning of his question. Vesemir approaches and patting her head adoringly “Might consider keep it down a bit, child, true that in their righteous minds Eskel and Lambert wouldn’t forcing themselves onto you, let alone the fact that you belong to Geralt. But sometimes too much is too much.” Vesemir lectured with concerns voices resemble those of a caring uncle.

“Am I that loud?” Ciri asks and looking up at the older witcher under her eyelashes.

Vesemir chuckles deeply and winked at her, leading his mare along the cobblestone path. Ciri groans embarrassingly then following her mentor into the hunting trip.

…

 _《_ _One month earlier._ _》_

A witcher’s path could be quite lonesome after he passed the final test at Kaer Morhen since the age of twenty. So, when first he crossed with Jaskier he felt a conflict of emotions swelled inside him; irritation from the talkative, too talkative, of the bard that somehow makes him felt a little less lonely too.

But now? Now that somehow the blasted minstrel had befriended the higher vampire and took the liberty of recruited said vampire to ‘graces a ride-along’ with him. When he questioned this Jaskier only said that he and Regis have a mutual destination at Lan Exeter in Kovir, something about a decree of bachelor or something.

“I might finally gain the title of Viscount! Imagine my friends, a renowned bard Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Kovir! I might even get a private performance in courts and if lucky enough, bedchambers of many, many duchesses or princesses all across the Continent!” Jaskier exclaims loudly full of glees and determinations. Regis only gave short applause and chuckles encouragingly at the exaggerated bard.

“And mister long name here,” Jaskier pointed at Regis who walked along while looking at the scenery around them, perking his ears at all strange noises along with Geralt, indicating their rivalry enhanced senses “was once a professor at the academy, might as well showering myself in his nepotism as long as I can.”

Geralt snorts out as he keeps spurting Roach forward.

Regis snorts as well, albeit harbored much more amusement than that of Geralt’s, shaking his head slightly and clarify things for Jaskier “Once was the fitting term, my bard friend, it was about a century ago that I have attended the ranks of professor, and in medical major, not art.” Regis said in his melodic lecturer voices.

“At least you must know the standards and regulations. So, all is not lost.” Jaskier said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Long name?” Geralt asks from his position, projecting his voice loud enough for them both to hear.

“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.” Regis answered in a noble manner, with elaborate gestures.

Jaskier seems to recall something, and Geralt almost snarling like a wolf as he heard the bard says “Actually, our dear witcher has one too; Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde!”

…

Around nightfall, Geralt stopped in a clearing and set up a campfire.

“So…did you have to drink blood?” Jaskier asks when Regis sat down beside him, fidgeting with herbs and remedies.

Regis pauses his fidgeting a bit and then resuming the task, and answers “When you mention it I kind of remembered how thirsty I am, come now my bard friend, lend me just a quarter of your blood and we are good.” Regis set all the tools down and hovering over Jaskier, the bard shudders when he notices the all-black eyeballs of the higher vampire.

Geralt snorts in somewhat amusement as he continues cooking at the fire, letting Jaskier squirms under the jesting barber-surgeon.

“Ahh…Geralt!?” Jaskier shined away from the creeping vampire in front of him.

“Don’t worry, a quarter wouldn’t kill you, Jaskier. Just lightheaded or a sick feeling.” Geralt said while stirring the stew.

Jaskier resigned to his fate, closing his eyes and braces for the fangs to sink into his neck. It never came but the laughs from Regis are clear as day.

“I was just pulling your legs, friend. We higher vampires do not need blood as food nor to survive. It was more like a luxury wine or some exotic pastries.” Regis returns to his previous task.

Jaskier exhales the breathes he was holding, and let out a nervous laugh “So, you don’t drink blood?”

Regis shook his head and has a grim look shadowed his face “I made a pact once that I would not taste any blood again, for some, blood is like a drug. You can be addicted to them and that’s no good for anyone.” Regis replied in his usual calmed tone.

“I take it you say that from personal experiences?” Geralt looking up at Jaskier’s questioning, gauging Regis’s reaction.

“Quite gruesome at that, my bard friend, I would appreciate not to talk about it if you don’t mind.” Regis gave a tight smile.

“And you age slowly or what, I notice some greys in your hair?” Jaskier continues as he sets the lute.

As Regis about to answers, Geralt interjects “They do not age; he’s appeared this way of his own choosing.” Geralt said without looking at them “Higher vampire is one of few species that have complete-polymorphic ability; they can take any forms as they please, appearing at any age to suits their purposes. Some even disguised as elves or dryads and lived among those without breaking a ruckus.” Geralt finished and looking up at Regis, who have a fascinated look plastered on his face.

“Impressive indeed, Geralt, you are quite educated in our species than I realized.” Regis gave him a nod.

“Didn’t hurt to know.” Geralt replied.

“That’s true!?” Jaskier, on the other hand, has the gears in his head turning in places.

Regis gives the bard a chuckle and then a moment later, a thick cloud of dark-blue fog engulfed the vampire. When it dissipates there was a younger version and completely different gender of the barber-surgeon sitting in the spot.

Jaskier has his jaw dropped to the ground; a southern beauty in front of him resembling nothing to the middle-aged vampire he has befriended, except for the same colored irises and an herbal remedy associated with the doctor.

“So, what do you think?” even the sound of Regis’s voices morphed into the unfamiliar and seductive tone. Jaskier was now so confused.

“H—how!? What about when two vampires wanted to mate, then? How would you decide which to take forms of which?” Jaskier bombarding Regis immediately as his brain is functioning again.

“Mutual decision of course! Some might even go as the same gender, as long as I recalled.” Regis replied amusedly at the way Jaskier seems to digest so many details given to him.

“So…you are saying that all vampires are biological-bisexual, or just higher vampires exclusively?” Geralt’s curiosity reaches the breaking point to the new information none was able to provide before.

Regis turns his feminist and somewhat strangely beautiful face of a southern woman towards the witcher and notices that the facial structure he had chosen is somehow stirred a hidden passion inside the witcher, just not actually directed at him rather the distant loved ones.

“Your guess is correct, lesser ones such as Bruxae or Ekimmaras are physically and biologically mono-sexual. We higher ones can choose and changes our prefers sexual orientation any time we want.” Female-Regis seductive tone when saying anything related to sexual topics is somewhat irritating for Geralt but sent Jaskier into a trance already.

Geralt has a feeling that the two travels to Kovir will somehow inspire many new ballads and poems for the bard, considering that some times ago Jaskier told him about his binary interest in both men and women; claimed that an artist like himself must see all the spectrum of love.

After the meal, Regis morphed back to his usual form. The vampire volunteered as a guard for them, reasoned that he did not need rest or sleep and Geralt should lay down rather than meditate.

…

 _《_ _Present._ _》_

“Is it always bore like this?” Ciri cried out after hours of stalking and tracking that Vesemir taught her basic then let her lead the way toward a draconid that the older witcher informed her about when they tied their mares to a tree, miles ago.

Vesemir grunts a warning to her, to keep quiet.

The two trailed the tracks of a sizable draconid from the foot of the mountain upward since the sun is on their head, and now it nearly reached the horizon.

“This is killing me! I want to fight something not sniffing its shit trail all day!” Ciri nearly shouts in frustration but Vesemir hits her in the head firmly and signaled her to shut up.

“I didn’t know witcher’s hunt would be so boring. Might as well goes fishing with Lambert or milking Lil’Bleater with Eskel.” Ciri grumbles under her breath, earn some irritated sighs from the old master.

“Alright then, stop.” Vesemir finally ordered her when they reach even ground.

Ciri couldn’t look him in the eyes, fumbling with her straps and pouches in her spot.

“Do you know why we can’t just simply holler these beasts out of their hiding and be done with it?” Vesemir's question came out sterns and cold, Ciri gulping and clear her throat.

“Because they are smart at surviving, and they will not risk their lives following a flimsy ruse. Not like humans tend to.” Ciri answered him with what she ingrained in her mind from his teaching.

“Correct. We hunt predators, not prey; they wouldn’t run from us like a doe when they see us brandish our swords. They will charge in and fight.” Vesemir lectured her again as he gestures for her to kneel on the ground with him “Witchers or even you might fight it with blood and broken bones, but those methods were not ideal; when you hunt something, a quick and efficient strategy is what we must uphold.” Vesemir dip a stick into the dunk in front of them “So, in order to quickly taking down a large and dangerous predator like this, we need the information to properly prepare for them.” Vesemir slightly sniffing the puff of odor he releases from the dried shell of the dunk, make a face but grunt with a satisfying look.

“Do I have to sniff their manure as well?” Ciri asks with a shudder course through her body.

“If you experienced enough or have a superior sense, yes. Now though,” Vesemir pick a discarded scale on the vicinity and presenting it to Ciri “look closely and tell me everything you see.” Ciri accepted the scale and inspecting it thoroughly.

After a while, Ciri reports her finding to him and Vesemir hum satisfyingly.

“And based on what you deduced combine with the knowledge you possessed from the tomes I have you read, could you guess the species of it or did my teaching goes in vain?” Vesemir asks her with expectation and high-hope laces within his tone of voice.

“A forktail, red, and about 3 years old.” Ciri answered the master witcher with pride swelling inside her, puffing herself a bit.

Vesemir gave a chuckle of appreciation and a thumbs up at her “Very good, Cirilla. Now that we know the target, what should we do?” Vesemir questioned her again.

Ciri lost in thought for a minute then ruffles through the satchel, taking out many vials and a piece of cloth.

Ciri gathered twigs and sticks from nearby, muster a sign of Igni, she has some difficulty using sign and magic even despite the fact that Yennefer taught her excessively and starts a fire.

“Draconid oil, best for poisoning the beasts of this type while fighting them.” Ciri recalling her study with Lambert and mixing the several chemical substances into a small copper bowl she’d pack.

“Because…” Vesemir trails off, hoping that Lambert might teach her properly as he strictly required.

“…it will force their body to rapidly produce Lactic acid so they will quickly be tired out, allowing a witcher to take advantage and kill them easily as they cannot take off on wings.” Ciri chanting as she recalls the saying she heard from Lambert.

“Impressive, child, you might make a good hunter yet.” Vesemir appraises her with sincere as he stood up.

“It’s good to know that Geralt couldn’t ingrain his recklessness and smartass-ness into you, much.” Vesemir said with an amused smile, but he notices the way his mention of her love takes effect on her.

“Might see me in action before making a decision, master.” Ciri forces her bubbly snippiness out, masked any traces of worries and longing she felt, almost resembles the sorceress she told him about.

“Please don’t, or this time I will have Lambert cover your recovery meals by himself.” Vesemir chided her and heard Ciri groans out.

“You might as well put a knife under my throat and sent me to fight the forktail barehanded. His tendency to make my life a living hell is astounding.” Ciri grumbles out as she flips the blade and applying the soaked cloth.

“So be careful then. Geralt’s first hunt was similar to you, differences are he’s more whiners and reckless than you, almost lost his hand that day.” Vesemir said.

…

Ciri rolled out and felt the air surging passed her as Vesemir shot Aard at the draconid, staggered it.

Ciri regains her footing and circling the forktail, noting the way it breathing heavily by fatigues settle in due to the effect of the oil she greased her blade earlier.

It launched at her but Ciri dodged the attack quickly, uses her flexible body and plant her foot as the pivotal point then twists her hips and drawn an arc of steel at the forktail’s shoulder.

The beast roar in pain, trying to snap its jaws at her but Ciri propelling herself out of reach by kicking her feet hard into its snout.

Vesemir constantly lecturing and yells at her when she does something dangerous, the old master was not as fast as she once saw Geralt move but on par with Lambert and Eskel still, Vesemir delivered a fatal wound on the hindleg and the draconid lose balance.

“Now, child! Finish it!” Vesemir shout out as he side-stepping out of the snapping jaws’ vicinity.

Ciri musters her strength and pounces onto the beast, aiming her sword at the joint between its skull base and spinal cord. It was then that she knows her senses were a bit too late.

The forktail, in its frantic state, whips its muscled tail full with skeletal spikes at her on instinct, Vesemir yells out with horror as he sees the arc of it sure to collide into her back, possibly severing her spines from the impact and puncturing her inert on many sharpened bones protrusions.

And as quick as lightning strikes, Vesemir sees a flash of green light burst out from Ciri, next moment the whipping tail hit empty air.

Giving him no time to comprehend what happened, Ciri reappears on the beast’s neck. The precision-cut of her blade severe the central nerves from another, rendered the thrashing beast immediately stilled.

The girl panting heavily as she straddles the thick neck of the forktail, raising her sword triumphantly and cries out like a mad Skelligan warrior.

“Fuck yeah!” Ciri shouts with victory, her grey shirt and leather armor soaked with gushes of blood-geyser from the forktail’s neck.

…

“Now, collect your trophy, Cirilla.” Vesemir urges her as the girl still playing with the elven knife, Geralt’s birthday gift for her, and hesitant in her spot.

As Ciri about to approaches the forktail, its head suddenly snaps up, and before any of them could react, spitting venoms at them both.

Vesemir was lucky because of his distance and his immunity provided by witcher’s mutation.

Ciri was not so lucky, as she’s covered from head to toe with the draconid’s venom, seeping into many cuts she received from the fight and howling in pain as the burning sensation course through her.

Vesemir was quick to lodging his silver deep into the beast’s skull and quickly get to Ciri. The old master going into panic and clumsily grab a strong alcohol from his bag, pouring it on her as much as possible to lessen the amount of them on her skins, he poured another two and then soaking her in their drinking water, uses alcohol-soaked cloth to quickly scrubs venom off every orifices on her face in hopes that he is fast enough to prevent them from getting inside.

“Stupid! Why didn’t I know?!” Vesemir grumbles to himself in frantic and unstrapping each joint of the armor with practiced velocity. Pouring another alcohol and water on her to wash away the venom as much as he could.

Vesemir carried her out of the beast’s nest after sheathed his silver. Laid her on the grasses in open air and rifles his bag for Hemlocks to give her a comatose and slows the effect of poison, he need to bring her back to the keep as soon as possible but without the mutation she might not survive the next hour, when he found none he curses in several languages he learned over the centuries.

He senses a third individual approaching them, turning his head we washed over with relief.

“Vesemir?” the strawberry-blonde haired druid/healer asks out from the bushes, walking towards the two with hurried steps.

“Help me. She belongs to your son, Visenna”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elaborate details of vampires biology were theorized based on the real-world organisms.  
> Effects of potions and oils based partly on descriptions in-game and my own thoughts.


	3. Shine Bright Like A Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mother's burden.  
> The consequences of her own doing.  
> The wolf's path back home.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Shine Bright Like A Diamond.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Vesemir hovered over Visenna as the healer using both herbs and magic to tend the unconscious girl.

“Vesemir, may I borrow your chaos a bit?” Visenna grunts out and Vesemir put his hand on her without hesitation.

The eldest witcher felt his stored chaos flow through their contact and sinking into her, after a while it made him felt weak in the knee and out of breath.

Ciri’s breathing gain a steadier pace, her sunken eyes seem healthy again, her pale lips gaining back it’s color and her emerald eyes blink open.

Vesemir stood behind a crouching woman in front of her; her pink skin covered mostly by tattered furs, her hair kempt in her furry beanie sneaking out strands of strawberry-blonde hair, her pronounced cheekbones almost resemble that of an elf but her rounded ears reminds Ciri of a similar set on Geralt, strange.

“Stay still, child, it’s alright.” Her soft and tender voice laces with hoarseness slightly the same way Geralt projected his speech.

Ciri looked back at those greenish-blue eyes and felt a sense of familiarity by the way it looked down at her, the way her witcher did every time she got injured.

If the young girl would have a wild guess, she might say this young and attractive woman who uses magic to cure her is Geralt’s relative, even his mom if she being ridiculous.

Ciri defies the concerns and sitting right up, nausea shooting up her head and settled inside her brain. A supportive hand of Visenna came quickly as she steadied the dizzy girl.

Ciri murmurs a ‘thank you’ to her as she laid one hand on the woman’s elbow, trying hard to lifting herself but couldn’t, Ciri let her rear settled on the grasses again.

“You might need to give her some salmons, lemon, and eggs.” Visenna said to Vesemir but her eyes never leave the girl’s face, she thought to herself that ‘Ciri’ have a certain mix of north and south beauty, even now that her growth spurts haven’t fully in effect yet, the girl has a stunning set of facial structure and those mesmerizing star-eyes. Visenna can see now why her son would fall for such a specimen.

“For her injuries and lessen the toxicity?” Vesemir asks out with uncertainty as he never recalls any tomes suggest such a diet.

“No, for her menstrual period. I can’t believe you let her train and be here like this.” Visenna snaps sharply.

“I’m fine.” Ciri grumbles out and sighing tiredly.

“It was not wise for you to ignored your health, child, especially when you are indisposed like this.” Visenna snaps back at her and Ciri swear that the similarity between the sorceress and Geralt only increasing.

Ciri crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the sorceress “And who are you anyway, I can’t say I know you?” Visenna was taken aback, quirking eyebrows.

“Visenna, a druid.” Visenna introduces herself.

Vesemir gauges the time and breaking the staring contest between the two “We should keep going, let’s get back to the keep before nightfall.” Vesemir gathered his and Ciri’s things and urges the two women to follow him.

…

The trio reached the main gate as the moon starting to graces the night, Eskel waiting for them. As soon as Visenna was in the vicinity of his enhanced sight, Eskel nearly running towards them and have his silver brandished.

Vesemir was quick to intercepts his pupil at the length which the tip of Eskel’s silver hovered an inch from Visenna’s throat.

Ciri was baffled by this; in a month that she stayed, trained and lived around him, Eskel never so much as curses with ill intent, not even at Lambert. But now the black-haired witcher has a face of rage embodiment and staring blood and dagger at the petite sorceress.

“What the fuck is this bitch doing here, Vesemir?” Eskel gritted out as he tries to push past the old master. Vesemir grunt a warning in his usual authorized tone.

“She saved Cirilla’s life, at least show some gratitude or let it down a bit, wolf!” Vesemir nearly shouts as Eskel keeps pushing.

Eskel looking between them and sees how in a bad shape Ciri was, averting his smoldering gaze toward Visenna and back to Vesemir. Relaxing his posture as he sheathing his silver in its scabbard, spitting on the ground.

“And keep Lambert off for a while.” Vesemir calls to his back, the younger witcher waves an understanding hand.

“What was that?” Ciri whispers out to Visenna.

The sorceress looks at her and produces a sad smile, one filled with regrets “He’s just angry at me for Geralt, they are best of friends after all.”

“But…what for?” Ciri still confused at the way Eskel reacted to seeing this woman, and to him calling the sorceress a bitch.

“…For abandoned Geralt.” Visenna answers laced with some emotions Ciri couldn’t pick or explains, it runs deeper than lovers or a fling. But she blurts out anyway.

“You were his lover once?” She’s hoping that would not be the answer, she couldn’t see herself compete with Yennefer and sure as hell not for Visenna too. But the answer shocked her to the core, knocked winds out of her lungs and turns her world upside down, again.

“I am his mother…Geralt of Rivia, your destiny. He is my son.” Visenna has a pained expression with every word she mustered.

…

 _《_ _One month earlier._ _》_

“You feel that?” Regis asks when they crossing a shallow river and flocks of birds simultaneously taking off from their position, akin to when something dangerous is passing them by.

Geralt nodding his head as he reined Roach to a stop, his medallion vibrates madly on his sternum indicating strong magic and also, monster.

Jaskier looking around, trying to see what the two with inhuman senses companions of his are talking about.

As Geralt landed on the ground, drawing his silver out and giving Roach’s rein to Jaskier “Take Roach away, now.” The bard gave no complaint as he quickly mounted the mare and sprinting away.

“What do you suggest, witcher?” Regis asks as he and Geralt stand back to back, covered other’s hindsight.

“Never felt anything like this, aren’t you supposed to know everything? You came through the Conjunction, right?” Geralt grunts questioningly at Regis as he keeps his heightened hearing to the top performance and pointing the tip of his sword in a defensive stance.

“Hate to crush your hope, my friend, but I was born merely four and a half centuries ago, in Nazair, on the Continent. I was from this world, not the vampires’ original one.” Regis grunts as well but his tone sounds way smoother than that of the witcher.

“Great…so what is this?” Geralt grumbles under his breath, his muscles in full charges and ready to take everything head-on.

Except for what came out of the direction they anticipated.

The beast resembling a hybrid between a Garkain and Chort, meaning a giant fucking ferocious vampire who doesn’t drink but left their prey in a messy goo of meat and shattered bones.

And to make the matter worse? Geralt has no idea how to deal with such brute and the immortal beside him seems as much lost.

“What the fu—” and just like an Alpha Garkain, the beast let out an eardrum piercing roar.

Geralt and Regis need to rely on their instincts to dodges the charging brute, least they might be turned into a puddle of blood.

“I think I might know what it is!” Regis shout as he uses his vampire prowess to slashes his long claws at the beast’s side and true to the legend, a higher vampire’s claws are as sharp as a witcher’s blade.

“Care to enlighten me!?” Geralt growls as he also manages to cut where there is supposed to be a tendon.

“There is a tome in our possession, depicted such beast as a failed evolution between lesser and higher vampires; a beast with strength of us but much more ferocious and unreasonable.” Regis alternating between his corporeal and incorporeal forms as a way to navigate himself around the wild hybrid.

“Naturally?” Geralt growls as he almost too late to deflect the blow from it.

“Artificial cross-breeding, mixed with volatile mutagens; some of the lesser hopes to gain a mutual ground someway and this is the result.” Regis said as he floats along the beast, creates long gashes of open wounds in his wake.

“How can you defeat one?” Geralt grunts and rolling out of the reach.

“With true form.” Regis growls in such guttural tone and when he appears again, he is in a giant bat-like form, height surpassing that of Geralt by half a body length.

At that point the fight basically ends; Geralt stood at a distance as he observes the scene; Regis never lets a moment pass as he rapidly swipes, bites and snaps all over the brute’s body and the beast could only wail in pain.

With a final strike, Regis sank his claws and fangs hard on the beast’s neck, swings around as if he’s a crocodile and then the beast finally goes still.

Regis dropped the giant down and lopped the head clean off with one lazy swing of his sharpened claws. The higher vampire regains his composure and slowly morphing himself back into that of a middle-aged barber-surgeon with a perfect outfit. But his skins are sickly pale and his eyeballs are still pitch-black.

Geralt makes a move as to approach but the immortal shot out a hand to stops the witcher.

“You alright, Regis?” Geralt asks from his spot.

Regis clears his throat and cocking his neck then replied in his bestial voice “Quite, my friend. I just need a moment to rearranging my molecular structure…goes back to your original form tend to mess with that.”

After a minute Regis’s elongated fangs and claws retracted into their original state. The vampire sighs with relief and grabs the lopped head then returning to Geralt.

“Why?” Geralt purses his lip at the head of the dead hybrid in Regis’s hand.

“Tradition, of course. Codex demands that when one of us was killed, the body needs to be cremated. And as this beast is closer to us than lesser ones, higher vampire’s tradition applied to them.” Regis explains and leading Geralt to one of the flattened surfaces.

“How come only a higher vampire can kill one of these?” Geralt asks as he helps Regis dug a hole into the earth.

Regis put the head inside and refilled the hole with excavated dirt “Their regenerative nature is closer to us, those scientists succeed in some way at creating an artificial higher vampire, so just like higher vampires can be killed only when another of our kind struck the killing blow, so are they.” Regis answered.

“Huh.” Geralt doesn’t ask anything more.

…

“You think there had been small Conjunctions scattered across the realm?” Yennefer asks from her position towards the other one in her study, a tall elf that introduced himself as Avallac’h, an **_Aen Saevherne_** at that.

“I do not think, Yennefer of Vengerberg, I do know.” Avallac’h said from his spot, looking more and more irritates when time passed, Aen Elle and their tendencies to detest a company of humans.

“And what caused them, then? You are a sage; you must know something.” Yennefer turns her eyes toward where her megascope stationed at, Ida pacing on the other side of the communication device.

“I don’t have any answers for you yet, Yennefer. The one with the knowledge on this is Crevan.” Ida said with a calming tone and directed her hand towards Avallac’h.

“There are so many theories floating around, but in my speculation, it was directly linked to Zireael and her **_Aen Hen Ichaer_** , she projected her powers about a year ago.” Avallac’h said thoughtfully.

“Zireael? A Swallow?” Yennefer didn’t know who the name belongs to, but as she thinks about the meaning more and more, she doesn’t like where this is going.

“Yes, the child of destiny. You met her, trained her and to the point of loving her. Gwynbleidd’s Cirilla.”

…

 _《_ _Present._ _》_

“Did you find it strange that their populaces growing this fast?” Lambert yells at Eskel as the two hacks and slashes through a horde of ghouls around the woods.

Eskel grunts out and beheading three ghouls “Yeah, thought Vesemir eradicate them decades ago.”

“And this close to the keep? How come none of us didn’t notice?” Lambert half-split the one that pounces at him.

“Let’s focus first.” Eskel grunts out and the two resumes their killing sprees.

…

Ciri was herd to her room, his room, as soon as Visenna revealed the truth to her.

The young girl never takes her eyes off the sorceress, seeing more and more resemblances between the mother and her son. Ciri imagined that once Geralt must have the same coloration of hair as Visenna; strawberry-blonde, before that blasted mage Quinto subjected her witcher to the additional trial.

“You must lay off the training for a couple of days, regaining your health.” Visenna said to her from where she rummaging through the satchel, beside the hearth.

“You left him to become a witcher? To subject him to those horrible things? What kind of a mother are you?” Ciri said in coldest and scariest tone the girl has ever produced, surprised even herself.

“And take these medicines, each one each day.” Visenna seemed to pay her accusation no mind.

“You know what he’s been through? What nightmarish experiences he had faced? Do you even have a heart?” Ciri continues her spike-laced verbal jabs towards the sorceress.

“…and don’t forget to eat properly, I will inform Vesemir to take care of them.” Visenna seems a little stutter but continued in her usual manner.

“Why did you leave him? Did he not meet your expectations as a son? He’s a great man but you abandoned him here to die!” Ciri had enough as she launched herself at Visenna, grabbing the sorceress’s wrist with a vise grip.

“Release me, child.” Visenna warned her but Ciri has none of it.

“Don’t dare say that word, I am not your child and even if I am, I do not want to have a terrible mother like you!” Ciri shouts at the sorceress.

“Cirilla…” Visenna’s tone softened and a speckle of tears form in her eyes.

“My parents are gone, but at least I have a chance to knew their loves and be with them.” Ciri’s voices go hoarse as her emotion climbing higher, threatening to crumble the wall any moment “But you!” Ciri jab a finger at Visenna’s sternum, over where her heart is “You didn’t give Geralt anything, not love nor care he deserves as your flesh and blood! You threw him away like garbage that you disgusted at!” Ciri yelling between her anguish tears that stream down her cheeks.

At last, the girl couldn’t control her sobs anymore, unwillingly falling into Visenna as she cries, full of the longing and anger she harbored for Geralt mixed with the recent revelation from her man’s mother.

Visenna starts humming a soothing lullaby Ciri remembered that Geralt used to do to her, Ciri pressing herself further into the terrible woman who cooed her, holding her as if she is somehow important to her.

“Why did you hurt him?” Ciri whimpered out into Visenna as she continues crying and Visenna keep stroking her ashen tresses while humming.

“…I have a gift, you see. One that gives me the ability to sees into the future, just a bit and pieces mind you, but a future nonetheless.” Visenna spoke softly to Ciri, with nostalgic feeling laces within her every word.

After a while that the sorceress keeps stroking the girl’s hair, she continues “And I see a future that He would stand by your side, facing the world together.” Visenna cooing her “ _The Swallow and the White Wolf fights the eternal cold._ That’s what I deciphered from my vision years ago. So, yes, I left him here, fates have it that he be turned into a witcher and live long enough to find you, little Swallow. Sometimes fates and destiny are so cruel that they demand a mother to give them her child, her whole world and the last thing she has left of the love she once felt.” Visenna said softly and Ciri felt wetness on her forehead, the sorceress crying silently as she reveals her reasons to Ciri.

“You could have kept him.” Ciri still stubbornly interjects.

Visenna chuckles through her tears “And what? Trained him to become a mage and never fulfill his destiny with you?” Visenna looking down and plays with strands of ashen locks “The best thing a mother can give her child is happiness in life, Cirilla. I know that with me he might become as powerful as that mage Vilgefortz, he might be so powerful that he could conquer any kingdoms he please or even ruling the whole world but he would not become this Geralt you know and love, little star, I know that through hardship as he had been through…will he have his happiness with you. Even at the cost of my own heart, I was willing to do it again.” Visenna relayed to her and Ciri couldn’t help but crying again, this time full of positives and heartache she felt for the sorceress.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I am the reason.” Ciri whimpers out but Visenna shushed her.

“I am the one who must thank you, little star, you make my son the happiest man in the world. I am forever in your debt, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” Visenna plants a kiss on the girl’s forehead, loving as a mother’s touch as Ciri has felt from Yennefer and Pavetta.

“How do you know he called me a little star?” Ciri asked, retracting herself from the sorceress. Tears stopped rolling.

“A bond is not too easy to severed, although my son might hate me, but my love for him still strong.” Visenna gives her that and ushers her toward the bed “Lay down, little swallow, sleep and get some rest. Your heart will be whole again soon.” And she gives Ciri a herbal tea, to ease her to sleep.

“Would you stay?” Ciri whispers as the herbs begin to lull her to sleep.

“Until you sleep, my dear.” Visenna replied and hive Ciri an assuring smile, the girl sighs deeply as she succumbed to the effect.

Visenna patting her hair for a while and reciting the prophecy she has all those years ago “ ** _Zireael an Gwynbleidd Ymladda Gynvaelwen_** ; The Swallow and The White Wolf fights the White Frost.” Visenna has a hopeful smile as she patting Ciri still, then her face dropped into one of sorrow “ ** _Y Gynvael an Bloed, Marw Gwynbleidd_** ; Of Ice and Blood, The White Wolf Perish.” Visenna plant another kiss on Ciri’s temple “I do hope you are the one to change that, Cirilla.” And Visenna goes downstairs to talk with Vesemir as she previously told Ciri.

…

 _《_ _One month earlier._ _》_

After the encounter in the woods, the trio continues on their way again, with Jaskier asking and prodding all the time.

Once they reach the crossroad Geralt stopped the caravan and looking at the two then back at the mountainous wall of rocks that stretched as long as he can see.

“This is where we parted ways.” Geralt said.

Jaskier sighs with resignation and nodding a farewell towards Geralt “Till we meet again, my friend. Safe path home.”

“I hope we meet again, witcher. Your company is all I can ask for.” Regis has a sincere smile plays on his lips, bows a little at the mounted witcher.

“Take care of him, Regis. And don’t get yourself into trouble so much, Jaskier.” Geralt farewells and as the two waving him goodbye, the witcher bows slightly then throttle Roach in the opposite direction; to the Mahakam mountains, the home of the dwarves.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Regis asks as he senses some unease and longing from Geralt since he tags along.

“He will be alright, my vampire friend, he might just miss the girl terribly.” Jaskier replied and change the subject “To the matter at hand, Regis, could you accompany me as my date at the nearest town banquet, milady?” Jaskier bows fit for a courtier and with his most charming voice.

Regis chuckles amusedly and turning into the southern beauty then bowed toward Jaskier “With pleasure, master Jaskier.”

The bard and the Vampire(ss) began their journey to the west gems of the Continent, City of Gold and civilization, Kovir.

…

Geralt passed the miner camp after hours of riding, dwarves looking at him with curious stares and some even greeting him.

“Geralt the White Wolf!” Yarpen Zigrin yelled from his post, the adventurer and his crew descend to meet with the witcher.

“Yarpen.” Geralt nods his head towards the group.

“What ‘re ye doin here, me friend!?” Yarpen shaking hands with Geralt as soon as the witcher dismount and stood on the ground.

“Just passing through, I’m going back to Kaer Morhen.” Geralt said in his gravel tone and grab the rein to walked Roach along with the group “Come on, Roach.”

Yarpen snorts as he looks at the witcher ridiculously “Ye still kept that mare? Thought ye might sell it when we done with the dragon.” His dwarven lilt is still hard to listen as ever but his time in Skellige with Ciri proved useful.

“I did. This is the new Roach, I got her from Novigrad.” Geralt said to the dwarf and a baffled look plastered on the shorter man’s face.

“Ye ‘re weird, witcher.” Yarpen chuckles and shaking his head while leading the witcher.

“Whatever. How are the passages this year? Still quiet?” Geralt dismissed and asking the question he wants an answer to.

“Nay. ‘round Belleteyn last year, monsters and trolls popping up like molds. I dunno why but now the mountain pass is full of ‘em.” Yarpen informs him and Geralt grunt a ‘fuck’ “But, don ye worriry, witcher. Me boys will escorting some miners through that lane, ye can come with.” Yarpen added.

Geralt hums an appreciation sound and nodding his head.

The witcher followed them for another minute then Yarpen producing a piece of jewelry to him, Geralt quirking his brows at the dwarf and Yarpen just laughs at him.

“Ye look like a lost pup tryna find its owner, a girl, yes? Here ye go, pal.” Yarpen places the jewelry in his hands.

Geralt inspecting it; the necklace crafted into a shape of octal, without any gems embed in it. The star has been shaped up by strands of silver woven into one another in delicate details, something only dwarf or elf smith could do and hanged on the silver-like lace.

“Mithril. We recently mined them at the southern part, thought to give it to me mom but she passed beforehand.” Yarpen said with a tight smile and sadness laced within his voice.

Geralt tug the jewelry securely inside his jacket, bowing towards the dwarf with gratitude “Thank you, Yarpen.”

“Consider it a payment for our trip, White Wolf. Truth be told, I am so relieving that ye face show up. Those monsters infested the path were no joking matter.” Yarpen replied and waving dismissively but seems to remember something as he quickly turns around and hooking the neck of one of the dwarves that walking with them “Geralt, here’s me new crew. Zoltan Chivay.”

…

“You don’t exactly exaggerate when you said ‘infested’ are you?” Geralt growls out as he surrounded by various monsters in different species, Yarpen’s dwarven company spread out to fought back the horde of them.

“Did ye saw me as that blasted minstrel!? I told ye they infested the area.” Yarpen shouts out from his side, killed four of the incoming monsters.

“This is impossible, monsters in this part had been eradicated since a century ago!” Geralt yelling as he pirouettes around wildly but with practiced accuracy that kills many more.

“I don’t fuckin care about that, witcher! Just keep swinging.” Yarpen screams in blind rage as his axe floating around the battlefield as if these monsters were nothing.

…

The whole caravan stops about a mile later, nearly everyone exhausted from their fights earlier, even Geralt has to regain his breathing after exerted all of his strength to survived recently massacre.

“That was…” the witcher croaks out between cough.

“Awesome!” Yarpen and his crew yell out.

One of the dwarves, who Geralt personally saved from demise, approaches the witcher and shows him a rough crystal, greenish emerald in color and has an unusual silvery aura.

“Thank ye for savin me arse, witcher. Take it.” The crystal was nothing like he had seen before, almost otherworldly. Geralt nodding at the dwarf and take it from his hands.

When he inspecting it closely it gave off a tinge of magical feeling, akin to what he felt around the brute he and Regis fought days ago. It might be that it came from a peculiar conjunction same as the beast.

“Beautiful isn’t it.” Zoltan said from behind him. Geralt quickly turning his head and saw Zoltan was there with a set of tools.

“My da was a lapidary once, he taught me things. Mind if I do something for ye? Ye save me life after all.”

And after Zoltan finished with his work, Geralt got the octal necklace embedded with the strange crystal. And as he gazes into it longer, he found that the shade of emerald somehow resembles Ciri’s irises color, making the void in his heart goes bigger and bigger.

…

“Farewell, witcher. Good luck with that girl!” Yarpen yells out from across the river as Geralt separating himself from the group after weeks of a long trip filled with slashing monsters occasionally.

Geralt raises his hand and makes a gesture back before turning back to the path and heading home. Another week and he will finally be with Ciri, his star in the darkest night, his beacon amidst the fogged sea, his destiny and something…more.

Geralt breathing in the cold air around the Blue Mountains and spur Roach into half gallop.

…

Ciri was closing in on her insanity as she’s been put to a pause of training and any actions for three days.

The girl craves action and something rather than sitting or laying down on the mattress all day, reading many books that Yennefer somehow packed away with her a month ago.

But at nightfall, when she having a stew, again, with the others. Something inside her contorted and felt like a thread has been tugged. Ciri abruptly stood up and following the sensation outside.

She traces the tugging along the path leading to the main gate, heart thumps rapidly as she might guess what caused this, or rather, who.

When she stood on the upper courtyard overlooking the entrance, she saw him.

White hair reflecting the moonlight, glowing pair of amber looking up at her.

As if been possessed, Ciri unknowingly crossed the distance between them in her fastest pace while not skipping over anything miraculously.

Geralt quickly dismount Roach and discarded his cloak at the same time that Ciri pounces onto him.

Geralt let out an ‘oof’ and falling back due to Ciri’s mass and velocity as she collided into him.

When he opens his eyes again, he was greeted by the flushed face of Ciri, who has streaks of tears rolling down and a look of anger mixed with the loving girl he remembered. A slap comes quick and hard.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me again, you idiot! I will hunt you across the Continent if it ever happens again, you hear me!?” Ciri shouts out between her sobs, looking Geralt into the eyes as she delivers each word as to engrave it inside his mind forever.

Geralt about to talk, another slap collides with his cheek again, mercy have it this time for the other side.

“And this for not saying goodbye!” Ciri yells, tears swelling and falling from her lovely emerald as Geralt takes a hint to keep his mouth shut.

Another one hit him, Ciri panting “This is for making my decision without asking me!” and Ciri ready her final slap, then let it collide into the witcher's reddened cheek.

“This is for making me love you, you stupid idiotic oaf.” The last sentence came off silently and Ciri finally collapses onto him, pressing her face into his familiar broad chest and crying silently into him, letting all of her pent-up emotions surging into him.

Geralt braves his hands to enveloped her shuddering form, kissing the top of her head softly “I’m sorry, Ciri.”

Ciri wiping fluids off her face and crane her neck up to meet his eyes “Promise me you won’t do this again.” Ciri commands.

And Geralt obliged “On my life, Princess.” He smirked as Ciri crawled up to capture his lips as sealing of the deal.

They prolonged the kiss as long as they could before the need of air won over, their foreheads rested on each other’s and their breath mingled. The silver thread tying them up tightly, almost merging their separate fates into one.

“I’ve missed you.” Ciri says first.

“I dreamt of you every night.” Geralt whispers to her lips as they gave each other wet kisses.

“You are not running away again, right?” Ciri whispered back as she grinding onto his hardened member, exerting moans from them both “Am I your destiny, my love? Say it.” She demanded with a seductive purr.

Geralt kneading her buttocks firmly with his gloved hands, feeling every firm muscle she gained from their time apart. And he kisses her again before replying “You are more than that, Ciri. Much more.”

“Let’s get it on, Geralt.” Ciri purring into his mouth and let her eager hands untying his pant’s laces.

“Are you sure about that?” but contrary to the question, Geralt busy his hands with the laces of her shirt, his shirt to be exact, and desperately chasing her lips with his own.

“I want you,” Ciri finished with her task and now grabbing his rock-hard shaft in her hand, stroking them the way she remembered from the dream, eliciting moans of desires and wanton from Geralt “inside me, right here,” Ciri unlacing her pants as fast as she could and after the blasted piece was gone, positioning both her hips and Geralt’s cock aligned to each other, parting her folds that slicked with wetness and sinking slowly on his head. Cries of pleasures came out of them as Ciri tentatively lowering herself along his length, swallowing Geralt centimeter by centimeter into her warmth “right now.” Ciri let out a satisfying grunt as finally Geralt is lodged fully inside her, throbbing and hot to her core.

Geralt was silenced the whole process and only producing moans and grunts as the girl devouring him whole, bucking his hips upward to meet with her eagerness.

Her tightness was out of this world and the wants washed over him as she began rocking lightly while straddling his groin.

The two making love for an hour, with Geralt and Ciri alternating their cries of pleasures and orgasms continuously.

Tonight, there might be snow falling but the heat from another kept them warm, rocking and thrusting with longing and make up for lost times.

Geralt gave a final thrust as Ciri collapsed under him due to her exhausting multiple climaxes, and spill his seed deep inside her the same manner as he had dreamt about that night. Covered the flushes body of Ciri with his own as he, too, collapsed after a release.

“We must get inside, there’s snow falling.” Geralt whispers to her in his exhausted and hoarse voice, Ciri giggles tiredly when she embraces the bigger man with her arms.

“Alright.” She accepted and before Geralt could notice, the flashing green light explode around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....


	4. Rite of Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What'll happen when you put a horny teenager and a witcher in the same room? Lots of smut.  
> ...  
> Ciri neared her final tests as a witcher trainee.  
> ...  
> Geralt is always a practical one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, There's so much I want to tell in this chapter.  
> Hope you enjoy reading it.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Rite of Passage.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Geralt finds himself suddenly on the bed, with Ciri laying naked under him and his member is still lodged inside her albeit a little flaccid.

And then nausea setting in, a sign that he'd been teleported, but Geralt keep it down and dissipates it quickly; benefit for training in a witcher’s way because when fighting monsters? One must always stay focus.

“Did you just…” Geralt said to her, his brows quirk up questioning.

Ciri purses her lips and shrugged her shoulders, cramping her inner walls to encasing Geralt’s girth and teasing it to full length again.

Geralt grunts as soon as he felt her action, sinking his mouth all over her soft and supple skins, starting from her jaws down her neck and tracing his kisses through the valley of her velvet breasts, taking one nipple on his tongue and squeezing a moan from Ciri with only one swipe.

“Oh, Geralt…” Ciri said softly as she arches herself for him, and Geralt happily obliged as he devouring every inch of her two mounds of flesh.

“Oh, Geralt…” she crooned out again as Geralt’s member regain its full strength, stretching her beyond belief as he rocks back and forth softly, intended to torture her as Ciri is craving for it.

“Stop playing around, witcher! Just…” Ciri tries to thrusts her hips to get there but Geralt’s firm grip restrained her in place, the girl whimpered wantonly.

“Just what?” Geralt whispers to her with triumphant, he has her in his hands and gods have mercy on him for being a teasing whoreson. Geralt screwing his shaft left and right, hitting her in different angles and rendered Ciri into a bubbly mess of moaning and whimpering, clenching herself to hold him inside desperately. Geralt moves to take it out as a jest and he felt Ciri clenches harder, hooking her ankles to locked him there “Say it, princess. Tell me what you want, what you really, really want.” Geralt whispers to her ear as he nibbling her earlobe, making her squirms.

Ciri growls animalistic as if she was a heathen lioness, grabbing Geralt’s face with her hands framing his perfect jawline, spitting each word with authority she replicated from Calanthe “Fuck. Me.”

Geralt shutting her screams of ecstasy with deep kisses as he retreated to the tip and then slammed back in with full force, hitting her cervix in the process. Ciri screams silenced into Geralt’s skilled kisses that he never once let go of her lips between his hard-pounding, threatens to split her in half.

The creaking sounds of the bed echoing around the entire floor, muffled screams are professionally sealed shut by Geralt. Ciri feels like the heat from a hard ploughing Geralt gave her has melted her down as she couldn’t do anything more than clenching her walls to makes her lover reach his climax as fast as she could, payment for the amazing fuck he’s giving to her as of now.

They moan into their joined mouths as Ciri reaches her peak and Geralt shooting his warmth deep inside her, again.

…

Ciri feels full, in every sense imaginable. Her Geralt is back here with her after a long month he put between them, the heartache she harbored for his absent dissipates hours ago, and now that he’s spooning her from behind while breathing softly onto the top of her head? Ciri felt like she can-she wanted to live in this moment forever.

Geralt absentmindedly rubbing a pattern on her left shoulder and occasionally kissing the spot with loving and caring touches, as if worshipping a goddess that lay with him. Ciri is content at the way Geralt holding her like she might vanish in front of his eyes if he as much as loosen his arms, silly thoughts but endearingly so.

Ciri trails her fingers and found one scar, long and thin as if belongs to a blade, starting from the base of his index finger and end past the wrist for about an inch. Her mind wanders as what caused such a wound, but Geralt seems to read her mind, or her action, as he says softly to her ears.

“My first monster. Found it about fifty miles from here, my first day on the Path.” Geralt has a tone of nostalgia laced with disgust at the mention.

Ciri perks her ears at the tale, each scar of his has tales although a lot of them were just dull accident during a fight but some hold epic stories he had lived through for decades. Ciri turns her lithe frame in his embrace to brought their intertwined fingers up and rested them on the valley of her breasts. Keep on rubbing a tentative pattern over the scar.

Geralt inhales her musk and sweaty scents deeply several times and then continues “Big ugly face, rotten teeth, bald. He pulled this girl out of the cart, tore her dress off in front of her father and said; ‘It’s time you met a real man.’ So, I rushed in, silver in hand as Vesemir taught when fighting monsters, and told him that it’s time that he met one too.” Geralt said in his usual gravel voices, Ciri felt love and adoration blooming inside her, kisses his sternum over where his golden heart is.

“Took two strikes to killed him, they weren’t clean…” Geralt nuzzling into her ashen tresses, engulfing his heightened senses with hers “but they were spectacular.” Ciri pressed her soft lips under his jaw, planting a loving kiss over his slow heartbeats.

“The girl?” Ciri asks, imagine how if that would be herself what price she’s willing to pay.

“She looked at me, vomited and passed out.” Geralt has a little pout as he exhales dramatically over her, Ciri is now giggling at his.

“That’s grand! Geralt of Rivia, the defender of the downtrodden, received his reward for noble deed as puke.” Ciri chirpings annoyingly at him as Geralt snorts with amusement “Twice though, if you counted me.” Ciri puffed herself up.

Geralt only snorts and plant a kiss on her forehead, Ciri hums tiredly as she scooting herself closer to him, pressing every nooks and curves into his rigid scars-adorned muscled body.

“I’m so tired, Ciri.” Geralt croaks out as his fatigue from riding Roach here all day settle in, pulling her up and pressing his face in the valley of her fleshy-mounds.

“Sleep then.” Ciri whispers to the top of his head as she’s stroking the nape of his neck in a similar fashion she’d vaguely remembered that her mother used to lull her in a sleepless night.

About an hour passed as the two asleep, Lambert ascends the stairs with things that Geralt and Ciri left at the courtyard due to the girl’s teleportation.

“Hey puke, you for—” when he saw them laid there together, he snorts and shaking his head in amusement, placing everything at the top of the stairs and then go back down to get some sleep, leaving them to rest in a peaceful snowy night.

…

Ciri was the first to awake at the break of dawn, her skins numb from the nakedness she presented to the cold night except to where Geralt has tangled himself to hers.

Looking down at the witcher she sees no trace of the grumpy and brooding monster slayer that people accounting him as one, if she can go back in time, she might have scolded the author that blindly written ‘Monstrum: the portrayal of Witchers’ that made the world hate him. It’s not to say some witcher doesn’t fall into the exact descriptions from the books but some good ones as these witchers she surrounded with? Deserves more than scrutiny, fear and hatred in their lives.

Ciri plays with his scar over his right brow with her fingertips, she remembered that it was from the stoning he got in Blaviken after he saved those stupid townspeople from being slaughtered. But any other details never been told to her, it was back when her grandmother doesn’t have her mother yet.

“Hmm…like what you see?” Geralt grunts sleepily and his voice still vibrating straight to her heart that he laid upon.

“What really happened?” Ciri asks him softly and keeps tracing her fingers over the subject of this conversation.

“There’s a girl, a princess.” Geralt said with his usual baritone she loves so much.

“So, you have types then? Sorceresses and princesses.” Ciri teases him and Geralt chuckles somewhat sadly.

He caressed her spine with gentlest touches someone has ever do to her skin, Ciri hums softly to that and Geralt continue “Her name’s Renfri, she was born during an eclipse, so her father’s advisor, Stregobor, told her parents that she was under the Curse of the Black Sun.” Geralt sighs a little frustrate and resume “she ended up exiled and got into all kind of shit, finally, she got to Blaviken.” Ciri pays her attention fully to his alluring tone “Stregobor wants to hire me to kill her and Renfri hoped to uses me to kill him. They were both trying to bullshit the concept of lesser evil to me.”

Ciri felt some sadness in his story and lift herself up, laying on top of him as she locked her emeralds with his ambers. Plant many light kisses to console him, even if she still doesn’t know the reason why.

Geralt caress her ears and breathes for a moment then he says again “that night she seeks me, came into my camp. We share stories over the fire, and tell me that she would leave Blaviken the following morn.” Geralt closes his eyes, savoring every distinct smell he picked from Ciri.

“…and you two fucked.” Ciri smirked up at him, playing his nose while her mouth forming a silent ‘poop’.

“Yeah…and then I went back to Blaviken and her goons were there, swords brandished and preparing to take hostages. Renfri went to Stregobor while I butchered them and when she came back…it was as if I had already chosen.” Geralt stretches to grab his steel from the bedside “I took her brooch with me, to remind myself of the things I’ve done.”

Ciri laid her head on his chest, listening to his quickened beats that now constantly slowed down “Shame that she couldn’t see another way.”

“Something is unforgivable. She couldn’t let go of her ghost.” Geralt replied in a resigned tone “She said to me, after I severed her aorta with her own dagger, that a girl in the woods will be with me, always.” Geralt and Ciri tracing the craftsmanship of the brooch “I thought it referred to herself at times, but then I found you.” Geralt kiss her again.

Ciri put a finger on his lips after a moment of passion, and looking into his golden irises then asks “Do you think she loved you, back then?”

Geralt chuckles out short, looking back at her ridiculously and shaking his head “No, she was just using a desperate measure to have me sided with her. I think she can’t register the concept of it at all, considering what she’d been through.” Geralt replied to her with sincerity, but Ciri shaking her head objectively.

“I think she can, and she did. Maybe for a brief moment there she might have some speck of love for you, my witcher, you are so different after all.”

“Because I’m a mutant?” Geralt quirk an eyebrow at her. Ciri dismissed his claim again by putting one hand splayed over his heart and captured his lips in a chaste kiss.

“Because you are better.” Ciri answered his curiosity and the two fall into a long moment of passionate kisses.

Ciri rides him again and again in a span of an hour, dismissed the calls from Vesemir as they are drowned in each other’s bottomless pit.

…

As Ciri panting heavily on top of Geralt after many climaxes the two had together, Geralt whispers to her that it might be best to take a bath and begin their day.

“Will you be joining me?” Ciri purrs tiredly as she disconnects herself from the witcher’s. Geralt shaking his head at her with a smirk.

“Nah, I think I’ve had my fill to last about three days already. And judging from Vesemir’s call, you better go fast or he will be pissed.” Geralt nudged her playfully at the side, tickles her and eliciting giggles from the girl.

“Not sure I could train in this state though, look at me.” Ciri presenting herself, full of cold sweats and naked in front of him, legs shaking slightly from sores and exertions but in the morning light casts upon her; she is the most breathtakingly beautiful creature he has ever seen.

“Just take some cold bath, you will be fine.” Geralt tells her and slumped back onto the mattress, sighs deeply as he relaxes in the morning breezes that came in through the balcony.

“Are you going to train with us today?” Ciri asks him again as he finished dressing and approaches the bed, sitting down beside Geralt.

“Maybe.” Geralt answered.

“See you down there, Geralt.” Ciri arches her head down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Hmm.” Geralt hums and taking a nap with a smile on his lips.

…

“I see you’ve slept well, Ciri.” Vesemir said with his face grumpy as ever when she was late.

“Sorry, uncle Vesemir.” Ciri meekly replied and fidgeting herself in front of the older witcher.

“Thought you were gonna be in bed all day, puke. Judging from what we heard this morning.” Lambert cocking eyebrows at her, making Ciri blushes red.

“A full month, might be so desperate to ‘see’ each other.” Eskel joined with the younger witcher in teasing her. Ciri couldn’t look any of them in the eyes.

“Alright, alright. Stop with that.” Vesemir scolded them “In your posts, today we’re gonna start with the basics first,” then the elder has a smug on his face “gives Ciri some mercy, she might be exhausted already.” And the three laughs at her in synchronization. Ciri chasing all of them intend to kick their asses wildly around the courtyard.

…

Geralt got off the bed after Ciri left for an hour, putting his pants on and descends downstairs to take a cold bath, refreshing and awakening his body. Geralt rummaging through the kitchen for breakfast and after he dressed in his usual outfit for training, he headed outside.

Geralt taking in the scenery of Kaer Morhen in late winter, a thin layer of snow covering here and there. Judged from them alone Geralt estimates that in a week Lambert and Eskel will return to the Path, as usual, Vesemir might consider taking a short trip as well before returning here as the eldest witcher seems to be contented about staying at the keep as long as possible. Old people and their attachment issues.

Geralt walking along the cobblestone’s pavement, passing by the old but still functioning ballista that aimed at the arc leading to the outer courtyard that they use as a training ground.

As he neared his destination Geralt heard steels clashing and Vesemir’s teaching echoing the vast space, Ciri alternating between Eskel and Lambert as the two witchers attacking her in unison albeit holding back as the girl will never be as fast as them.

Geralt waving at Vesemir and the older witcher returned the action.

“Aware of your surroundings, Cirilla! Do not let them blinded your perception of the battlefield, uses everything you have learned to fight! Every movement must have a purpose, do not waste your energy with fancy spinning, you are a witcher, not a circus performer!” Vesemir circling them, taking notes and correcting their movements in every clash of steels.

Geralt repeated the same mannerism as Vesemir, he saw many holes in defense of both Ciri and Lambert as soon as Vesemir directed them to change into free-for-all instead of two-on-one. Eskel and himself are equals; differences be that he was faster due to the second mutation and have more fame, thanks to Jaskier’s efforts. Ciri’s movements have been refined and shaped by Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert to the point that she changed from rough mineral to a diamond. As much as one human’s body can take.

But as he observing furthermore, he compared her prowess to that of Leo Bonhart, a man who bested three witchers and given himself a challenging duel and sees more and more gap between the bounty hunter and her. Worries swelled inside him as a possibility that if they were going back to the Civilization, Ciri might be separated from him via many circumstances and might crossing with the bounty hunter; with the current performance he saw from her, he sure Ciri would put up a fight and might draw some blood but eventually, he will bested her.

Geralt eventually calls the rumble to a stop, the others looking at him with confusion across their faces, even Vesemir.

“Ciri, Lambert. Stand aside.” Geralt commanded them and the two reluctantly sheathed their sword and steps out, leaving only a confused Eskel to facing Geralt.

“About last year, I’ve met with a bounty hunter named Leo Bonhart.” Geralt signals at Ciri to passing the steel to him, Lambert has a look of recognizing on his face at the mention “He was good, really good. He claimed that he killed three witchers all by himself and all of them fell to his skills with sword alone, no magic involved.” Geralt continued as he registers the weight in his hands again, waking up his muscles memories at handling his steel which a bit heavier than silver.

“He showed me three medallions; a cat, a griffin and a wolf. A wolf belonged to Coën.” Eskel has perplexed expression as Vesemir sighs with sadness and Lambert is shocked. Geralt stops whirling his sword, pointing his tip downward “After I fought him, I was sure that his claim is true; the bastard can kill a witcher with his skills alone. He almost bested me with his trick, lucky that I am a witcher or otherwise his Zerrikanian poison would’ve killed me.”

“So, you want to show us how to fight him? Make sure we are prepared?” Vesemir asks and Geralt nodding his head firmly.

“It’s the least I can do, you are all I have left.” Geralt brave a smile at all of them, Lambert snorts at him with his usual manner.

“Pretty boy being soft now, that’s hilarious.” Lambert chided him but everyone knows that his insults lace no venom.

“Shut the fuck up and watch, prick.” Geralt countered and the two smirks at each other.

Eskel falling into his offensive stance, focusing only on Geralt “When’s the last time we fight, Wolf?” Eskel questioned.

Geralt think about it for a second and reply “two years ago?” Geralt also has an offensive stance but the pose imitated that of Bonhart as he ingrained in his mind since then.

Geralt showed them all of Bonhart’s movements he remembered and alternated all around as Bonhart and himself while sparring with them.

…

Ciri stole away a moment with Geralt after his session was over. Ciri piggybacking on Geralt’s back from the courtyard towards a lake north of the keep. Lambert whistled after her when she hooked her arm with Geralt’s and herd him, Ciri looked back and stuck her tongue at the youngest witcher.

There was clearing under the oak along the shoreline, Ciri commandeered him to the spot and as Geralt sat down, Ciri settled herself onto his lap and facing the chilled lake while her witcher encloses her form with his strong arms. His stubble tickling the nape of her neck as he planted light kisses on her skin.

Geralt heard Ciri sighs contently as she sinking into him, one hand reaching up to play with his snow-white hair and he purr to the attention she’s given him.

“It’s beautiful.” Ciri said softly after a while, her fingers keep raking through his hair. Geralt hum along with her statement as he put his chin on her shoulder, nudging into the side of her neck passionately.

“I wish we’ll never have to leave.” Ciri whispers to him while tightening his embraces on her as if suddenly a cold air is bothering her.

Geralt only hums in responses to each statement Ciri has said for a long time, mostly consists around appreciate the sceneries or their fogged futures.

After a while, Geralt says “We got about another week, Yennefer requested to see you in Vengerberg via her raven weeks ago. Might as well indulges her for a month, what do you think?” he asks Ciri as she spun herself around at the mention of the sorceress.

“Lady Yennefer wants to see me?!” Ciri questioned him with excitement and glee.

Geralt chuckles as he pulling her closer, kissing her nose “Yes, she almost pleads me to bring you to her as soon as possible. And she mentioned that she has some news about your power.” Geralt tells her and search her face.

“I do miss her, terribly. We have so much fun together on Ard Skellige.” Ciri chirps at him and Geralt quirks a brow at her, Ciri saw it and have confusion on her face.

“Since when did you two became besties?” Geralt asked her as he couldn’t imagine two opposites as Ciri and Yennefer goes along in a month.

“Since I have to spend time with her every day, she’s lovely and taught me so much.” Ciri rocks softly on his lap, recalling her times with Yennefer to him.

Geralt listened to her in silence, only given smiles and nods of his head along with her stories. The Yennefer in her stories must sound like a complete stranger to outsiders but to him, it brought nostalgia feelings from the past. He and Ciri might be ones of few people on the whole Continent to knew the real Yennefer.

After Ciri finished, the girl is now asleep in his arms, snoring softly from the exhaustion of his intense training earlier. Geralt keeps his senses high on alert and falls into a meditative state in her intoxicating presence and scents.

Ciri stirred awake after a while and prodding Geralt out of his trance.

“Geralt, come on.” Ciri drags him up and leading the way towards the shoreline of the lake.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks as he let himself be dragged by the smaller girl and taking in the show as Ciri stops to stripping naked in front of him.

“Swimming. Come on, undress.” Ciri tugs his shirt’s laces as he is still standing there and making no move.

“Swimming?” Geralt asks with quired eyebrows and a smirk plastered on his lips, Geralt raises his arms to let Ciri taking his shirt off and the girl untying his pants after she discarded the shirt on top of her pile.

“Yes, just swimming. I'm still sored.” Ciri said as she’s done with the lace and ushered Geralt to take the pants off himself while she slowly walking down towards the cool water.

Geralt followed her and the two floats along with each other, starting a splatter battle and ended with Ciri laid on the stone, bathing in the sun as Geralt worshipping her with his mouth.

…

At evening the residents of Kaer Morhen decided to change the scenery of their dinner as a welcome party for Geralt, Eskel and Ciri worked together to starts a big bonfire as Geralt and Vesemir took off into the woods for hunting and Lambert spreading his collection of homemade boozes, the man has a talent for such things.

Ciri got a bit tipsy after a couple of hours and then the two hunters came back with decent sized deer was carried on Geralt’s shoulder and Vesemir has three hares and a wild boar piglet. Lambert chirps in delight at the sight and approached Vesemir to take the piglet off the old-man while Geralt dropped the deer on the stone-floor and starts skinning it when Ciri scoots herself over to him, studying the uses of a knife by her witcher.

“First.” Geralt instructing her as he cut a long gash from the chin, divides the deer in half. “Then.” Geralt cut a curve line starts from one shoulder to another by having it crisscrossing with his previous line and presenting a skinning knife at her to repeat the same process at the backs of knees.

Ciri eagerly took the knife as Geralt make a space for her, Ciri’s cut is not exactly straight but still better than he expected; courtesy of her natural talents with swords and blades.

“A little deeper than that, easier to took the coat off.” Geralt directing her and Ciri was a quick learner, as always. Ciri handed him back a knife and Geralt starts peeling the hide off of the deer, Ciri gives him a hand here and there.

At last, the skinned hide came off, almost perfect and Geralt took it to the tanning area at the farthest side of the keep with Ciri in tow. Geralt directing Ciri to begin the process of tanning it step by step and they strung up the hide on the stand to let the chemicals work their magic overnight.

“What are you going to do with it?” Ciri asks as she walking back towards the bonfire alongside Geralt, putting her hands far away from herself as much as possible due to the tanning process.

“Dunno, Vesemir might find some use for it when we were gone. He likes it here more than risking his old neck on the Path. Of all of us he’s the one that stays here the longest, every year.” Geralt replied as he made a face at the smells coming off of her “But I think you need a bath, those stenches! Ugh!” Geralt put a distance between them as a joke and Ciri wildly dances around him.

“I would need a whole day to get rid of them! Damn, that’s bad.” Ciri gurgles a little as she purposefully brings one hand close to her nostrils.

“Did you think you can take it till the dinner is over?” Geralt asks as he slowed down to walking closely behind her, admiring the puberty’s works as they morphed her body more mature. Those swaying hips especially.

“Lambert’s vodka was pretty strong; I might not even notice.” Ciri deadpanned and the two reached the area, other witchers are currently enjoying themselves with boozes and roasted hares as Geralt’s venison produces scents and sounds from the fire licking it, making her stomach growling.

Lambert tossed a bottle at her and Ciri gracefully catch it, downed a sip and feels fire coursing through her body. Geralt snatch it from her and downs a big gulp, exhales satisfyingly as the familiar strong alcohol hit his stomach.

They exchanges stories and tales over the meals and drinks, Ciri is fascinated by many tales from Vesemir that depicted some extinct monsters the old witcher fought in his younger years while lounging herself on top of Geralt, who sat beside her, and enjoying the atmosphere of a small family she’d made that consisted of one funny uncle and two brothers of her lover.

…

Geralt draped an arm over her chest once a chilling breeze came by to warm her up, Ciri snuggles into him as she uses her Geralt as a bed and a heat source. Others lay splattered across the clearing after all of their hunts had been reduced to a pile of polished bones and empty bottles surrounded them.

Eskel snuggled to Lil’Bleater and slurred singing many songs he heard in Kovir to them but most likely to the sheep that whines occasionally at the drunk witcher. Lambert snoring loudly due to his fast draining of the tankards and Vesemir lounged on the log, patting his belly happily.

“This is nice.” Ciri slurred out due to her intoxication level from alcohol and a full belly that seducing her to fall asleep. Geralt’s hold tightens around her as he nuzzles into her hair, inhaling her musk through his nostrils and let them swelling his inside with content and a sense of peace.

“Are you drunk?” Geralt’s tone is soft, kissing her cheek lightly along with his question and Ciri humming happily, pushing herself into him further.

“Noooo…” Ciri protests but her sentence was cut short by a belch.

“Hmm, how much did you take?” Geralt let Ciri guiding their intertwined hands around like a kid playing silhouette over the fire.

“Fou...five!” Ciri grins drunkenly up at him as she stutters recalling her intake of vodka.

“Huh, that’s it Ciri. Time for the bed.” Geralt heaved her up and Ciri opted to just let him carry her bridal style inside the hall, heading towards the staircase lead up to their quarter, Ciri tugged his medallion to stop him.

“What?” Geralt quirks at her and Ciri slurry pointing her index to the direction of the catacomb that they had fashioned into underground bathing chambers.

“I wanna baath firss…t!” Ciri demands with her trademark pout.

“Fine.” Geralt grunt amusedly and redirecting his path to the new destination.

…

After a long and thorough bath that he gave Ciri and himself, the witcher carried her slightly awake form up the stairs.

Laid her down on the mattress and proceed to adjust her clad-only-in-shirt jelly body to a more comfortable position and let Ciri slouched down the worn mattress and sighs contently while splaying herself sleepily.

Geralt stood there and admired her with a grateful feeling, grateful for the beautiful woman that lay in front of him, grateful for the love she gave him, grateful that she is here to lighten up his dark world like a sun in the deepest cave. Grateful that he found her.

He undressed himself to only a loose pant and climbed behind her, spooning the girl in his arms and kissing her on the nape of her neck then rested his lips there. Falling asleep to her snoring and warmth.

…

Geralt stands firmly on the ground, looking down at Ciri in the circle. Vesemir staged her final test in the heart of the woods surround Kaer Morhen as the tradition of the wolf school to chose the candidates for the final triple trials.

The stone circle is an ancient spot of Chaos, one of the firsts that appeared after the first Conjunction, according to elven tomes. The traces of the power lured many creatures to this place and with a specific calculation that witchers conducted the rite of passage here for centuries.

“Eskel, Geralt and Lambert passed this trial as a boy into a witcher, now it’s time for you, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of the Raven House. The Lion-cub and Heiress to the throne of Cintra.” Vesemir said in a tone reserved for ceremony loudly at Ciri, who stood with Geralt’s silver inside the designate spot and calmly listening to him.

“Are you willing to disown the names and titles you possessed, to become a sword that cuts through the night. To be a shield between monsters and men?” Vesemir questioned her with an authorized voice demanding an answer.

“I do.” Ciri replied. With the confidence of a lioness befitting her moniker. And knelt.

“Here lies your former self, forever rests in this circle and rise,” Vesemir gesturing her to stand up, “Says your name and prepare your sword.”

“Cirilla.” Ciri states her name firmly and whirling the silver in her hand, spreading her honed senses that she trained immensely the past month around the area for any incoming threat and caught a rustling from her east.

Before Ciri knows, the four witchers retreat into the cover of nature, there’s no trace that they were even here a moment ago but her bond to Geralt tugged firmly and that was all the comfort she needs.

Ciri adjusts her breathing into one that Vesemir taught her to do before fighting a monster, honing every aspect of her physical abilities to the top.

A heartbeat later the beast showed; a group of nekkers appeared and surrounded her quickly, screeching amongst themselves to formulate a plan. Ciri relaxing her muscles and tightening her grip, nekker is one of the easiest kills if you came across one but whenever the pact found you. They will come in at every angle at once and without experiences and skills? Luck is all you have in hope of surviving them.

The first two lungings at her with their claws spread wide and Ciri goes back half-step as she quickly cut them in half with practiced grace and prepare for the next movement as another one comes from behind.

Ciri spun around and slashing it simultaneously with her spinning, cutting its heart and severed the spine. With continuous flow Ciri lowered herself as she maneuvers her weight sideways, slamming the heavy pommel dead at the monster’s jaw and cracking it loudly then following with a short swing that cut into its vertebrae. With four down the other five circles her with uncertainty at the manner that their flock has been depleted.

Ciri whirling a short circle and go into offensive as she steps in, slashing the closest one to her, the nekker was quick to dodge but Ciri pistons her elbow backward and stabbing her silver deep into the nekker’s diaphragms and twists forcefully, let the trauma knocked it down.

Ciri let go of her handle as she felt a whooshing from the side, claws grazing her forearm and caused shallow wounds. Ciri lifts her elbow and strikes it into the creature’s eye socket, staggering it. Then add the effect with the heel of her boot at its larynx.

Ciri falls into a hand to hand as another one jumped onto her back trying to claw her neck, the girl pulled the monster down with ease due to Geralt’s teaching and lodged a heavy punch into its ribcage, fractured the bones and piercing its lung.

Ciri grabs a handle and yanked it out from the nekker’s carcass and with fluid movement draw an arc of deadly silver horizontally and disconnecting the torso of another one that trying to pounces on her from the back.

The last one trying to flee but Ciri flips the handle and spins in her spot then throwing the silver in a straight line and piercing the creature through. Ciri regains her breathing and approaches the last one, dislodged the blade and lopped its head clean off in one swoop.

The girl walking back towards the massacre scene and finishing any nekkers that still breathing. With the last laid still Ciri exhales loudly with pride swelled up inside her.

Lambert was the one that appears from behind a big boulder and patting her on the shoulder proudly, smiling with respect at the girl’s show of skills that he was one of those helped instills.

“That was awesome, Ciri. Proud of you.” Lambert said to her without any belittlement for the first time.

“Hey, you can be nice!” Ciri hugged him with glee and a genuine laugh as Lambert snorted back at her quip.

As Ciri let go of Lambert, Eskel walked to her and clap a hand on her shoulder firmly and gave her a respective nod and smile. Cirilla beamed up at her brother and one of many mentors then jumped in to hug him.

“Good job.” Eskel said to her as he patting her back.

“You taught me well,” Ciri replied to him and the two chuckles together.

Eskel retreated and Vesemir is the next who came to her, in his hands is a leather-strapped customary witcher’s steel that he intends to give as a token of the trial she has passed.

Ciri’s eyes gleaming with both excitement and tears, hugging the old mentor tightly as she whispers many ‘ _thank you_ ’ to him.

“You made me proud, little swallow. I couldn’t ask for a better student.” Vesemir said to her with pride swelled in him and soothingly stroking her back. The old master pushed her off and presenting the weapon “This is **_Dhu’Aine_** , one of the blades forged by the legendary elven smith once lived here and provided many swords for our brethren in the past; this is the last one he forged before Falka’s Rebellion that too his life.” He placed the strapped blade in her shaken hands as Citi marveled at the craftsmanship of the handle, pommel, and the guard.

The dimension of the sword matched the witcher’s ordinary standards with 8-inches handle wrapped in tanned leather of a draconid adorned the crown by a snarling wolf-head engraved in a round pommel, the guard woven by forged strands of silver-alloy sheathed in a scabbard custom-made to fit the decoration of the handle by the same draconid’s leather.

Ciri unwrapped the leather-straps and draw the blade out, the black-meteorites edges gleam in the sun and was polished only in the cutting bits leaving the fuller and a ricasso in a rough and matte finish, the silver strands continued from the guard to about 7-inches of the blade. The overall length is 40-inches and weighs perfectly for her as if it was forged awaiting to falls into her hands.

Ciri gives it a brief demonstration within her hands and finds it even more comfortable than Geralt’s that she used to. Sheathing it and gives Vesemir another big hug. The old master laughing with satisfaction at the way Ciri is still beaming and cooing her new sword.

Geralt was the last one to congratulate her, he comes in with a wide grin on his face and takes her in a big bear hug that lifts her from the ground, Ciri yelps in surprise as Geralt starts spinning her around while laughing like a madman.

The girl gains her grip and hugging the witcher’s head, pressing his face into her abdomen as she falls into the same laughter as him. Geralt pulling her in tighter as he inhales her scents and then let her down.

“That’s was perfect. Especially that fistfight you gave them.” Geralt appraises her with his whole being and Ciri felt like the world is a better place when she sees a genuine and loving rare smile of his. She hopes he might smile more often because she loves it so much.

“I have a great teacher.” Ciri beaming at him, Geralt quirk a brow at her.

“Me?” Geralt asks and Ciri shaking her head then jumping on Vesemir and hugging his neck.

“Uncle Vesemir, duh!”

…

Geralt waiting at the entrance for Ciri to take a quick bath for the final step of the ceremony.

“Hey, you might wanna hurry. It's almost time, Ciri.” Geralt said to the chamber as he holding an outfit for her; a long linen dress for the ceremony of the rebirth, which means where witcher candidates who passed the trial of the death as she has this morning would intake some herbs and mushrooms to honing their physical attributes surpass those of ordinary human but not as high as witcher’s, normally as a form of getting ready for the mutation process.

No one ever died on this, even a woman can ingest them so he has no worries for her to go through this.

“I’m done!” and Ciri emerges from inside, her hair gathered into a bun of ashen locks on the top of her head, two strands of hair cascaded down along her jawline and framing her stunning face perfectly. Her skins damp from the bath gleaming in the candlelight and Geralt wonders again; how in the world he ended up with someone as marvelous as Ciri.

She has no problem standing in front of him naked, proudly show off her firm and athletic body only for him. Geralt’s eyes automatically traveling from her enticing long and supple neck down to her valley of fleshy mounds he loves kneading so much. Ciri quirks a brow at him and jabbing a finger at his chest.

“My dress?” Ciri asks and Geralt regains his brain function, clearing his throat and handed her the fabric.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Ciri asks with concerns.

“Yep. Vesemir had done it before, when a woman warrior came from Zerrikania and seeking to train under the witcher’s way, he subjected her to the same processes you did. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt a bit.” Geralt reassuring her while helping to tie her laces.

“What would I get from this?” she asks.

“You will be faster, stronger, harder to tired out in battle and you will be able to take some potions; only in small proportion watered down by alcohol but you will not outright dead from taking one as humans. You will be like a witcher, just not as superior as one.” Geralt answered and he planted a chaste kiss on her lips, Ciri returns the act and hugging him tightly, sighing with content.

“You are amazing, Ciri. The way you passed the death ceremony today…was spectacular.” Ciri nuzzles into him as she imprinting his scents into her lungs, savoring every distinct combination of smells overcoated his form; earthly, masculine and so Geralt.

“Such a grim name.” Ciri said into his collarbone, her maturing added her height for several inches among other things so, now her head reached to Geralt’s chin instead of his shoulder back when they first met.

“A suiting one, you let your past dies. You killed it along with the monsters you slew at the circle. And you are about to be reborn with this ceremony.” Geralt Said with nostalgia and push a strand of ashen off the way that it hides her emerald stars from him “At least that’s what some of us hold on to. In the end, though, you can’t throw away all the pain and suffering you have endured because the best way to survive is to embrace and find peace within them.”

“Like you found me?” Ciri asks, her eyes searching his, ambers stared back at her filled with love and adoration.

“Like the love you gave me, **_Me Feainn_**.” Geralt smiles at her and ushers her forwards “Come now Vesemir’s waiting.”

…

Ciri calmed herself down after the first foul taste of the mixture touches her tongue.

She has been directed to sitting down at the center of candles and then with only a reassuring pat on her shoulder, Vesemir gave her an amphora filled to the brim with smelly substance.

“Drink, and be reborn. Cirilla, from the moment you take this elixir you will become a part of our pack, you will belong to Kaer Morhen and nowhere else. You will become a sword that cuts through the night and a shield of both humans and monsters.” Vesemir chanting at her while urging Ciri to down the elixir.

Ciri difficultly drank them due to the foul taste and weird smells, but once it settled in her stomach the effects are fast.

She felt jolts of pain coursing through her vascular network all over her being, numbs settled after and she has labored breathings and then every nerve she has burns intensely as if she laid on top of a fire. She can feel each knot of muscles became more flexible and stronger, her heart-rate slower by a fraction of beats and her eyesight could distinguish small details inside the dark corner of the cave they are currently occupied but just a little bit.

Her sense of smells also improved beyond what she’d capable of, now she can dissect individual smells within a scent, almost tastes it in the air as Geralt often put it when she asked him about the mutation.

Geralt was the one who knelt in front of her, shooting a reassuring smile and said in his usual volume “How do you feel?” but Ciri has to strains her ears a bit as that sounds louder than before.

“Could you be a bit quieter?” Ciri rubbing her ears a little.

“Sorry, forgot about that.” Geralt tuned down his voices to accommodates her newly improved hearing.

“Rise, Cirilla.” Vesemir comes in as soon as he knows the result.

Ciri standing up a bit faster than she used to due to her reinforced muscles and tendons, facing the old master.

“The ceremonies are completed and because we cannot give you a mutagen without crippled you permanently or kill you, this will be counted as you have passed the initial…witcher.” Vesemir smiles at her and patting her shoulder.

Ciri beamed back and punch her fist upwards.

…

“When you said more stamina…” Ciri panting out as she’s rocking on top of Geralt’s groin constantly, faster and faster as the witcher eyes rolled to the back of his skull “…I thought you were just bullshitting me.” she growls as his erection hit a spot.

Their joint area is slicked by juices and loads of their orgasm. It creates a heaven-sent feeling of friction at just the right amount. Geralt growls deeply as Ciri changed from rocking back and forth to riding his member up and down.

“Are you still…” Geralt’s sentence cut short by his moan as she devoured him to the hilt in a forceful sink “…doubt that after…” He growls again as her riding caused himself to slid off her and grazing her rear entrance, Ciri uses her hand to reposition it and slowly sinking herself on his length, savoring each vein and tendons that made up the hot rod “…seventh times?” He hums deep in his throat as Ciri cramps him when she's quickening her ride.

“Just still wonder…” Ciri mewled out as Geralt thrusting up to countering her riding and slips past her cervix “…how many we can do in one night.” Ciri swatted his hands off her hips and locking them over his head with her newfound strength.

The old bed creaks loudly as the lovers moaning and panting alongside one another as they hurriedly chasing their releases.

As a precaution, Geralt proposed that Ciri should come with him to a cabin at the lake, far away from others as possible. Because he knows the other side-effect of the elixir on the first night after ingestion; high libido.

The bed protests angrily as Ciri is now riding on his length with such speed and force, nearing her climax by seconds.

Geralt freed his hands from hers and gripping her hips as Ciri cries out in ecstasy to rammed his cum deep inside her womb.

Ciri kissing him clumsily as she still riding off her orgasm and Geralt felt his bones melt as her inner walls engulfed him tightly while his throbbing member continuously shooting semen into her.

After a while, Ciri is back at riding him again as soon as her deepthroating successfully awaken the sleeping dragon.

They laid happily together after the twelfth synchronized times, with Geralt’s head on her abdomen and Ciri’s disheveled hair splayed all over the pillow, sweats gleaming on their skins and let the cicadas and forest bugs lulled them to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaer Morhen witcher's Rite of passage is my idea.  
> ...  
> Next stop; Vengerberg. and the return of our beloved bounty hunter; The Mandalori-- Leo Bonhart.


	5. Tor Lara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey down south to meet with the sorceress at the second biggest city in the northern realm.
> 
> Bounty hunters closing in on their tails, and they are not Bonhart's company.
> 
> Lessons must be learned by hardship and misery for the little Swallow, lucky for her that she got her Wolf at her side through thick and thin as their loves blossoms and embedding deeper inside their hearts.
> 
> The desperation in retrieving what they have lost since the Conjunction of the spheres drives the Alders to trudge into dangerous territory.
> 
> Mages of the North's banquet to extinguish the Whiteflame, but someone must have swapped water with oil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to write a collection of short stories into this chapter, so it took more time than usual.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Tor Lara.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Farewell, Cirilla.” Vesemir hugged her as the woman about to mount the mare.

“I will be here next winter, uncle Vesemir.” Ciri hugs him tightly.

Geralt holds the reins of Roach and Kelpie, Ciri’s white mare, at the stable. Eskel was the first to leave as his usual destination is in Maribor. Lambert left two days after for Drakenborg in the kingdom of Redania.

After days of extra training that Vesemir allowed Geralt to put in Ciri’s usual schedule, the ashen-hair woman goes through harsh training as Geralt doesn’t have to concerns about her physical limitation anymore.

Now she stood tall with confidence and grace of a warrior, her swordsmanship surpassed any fighters he has ever faced but it still left to be considers compared to Bonhart.

 ** _Dhu’Aine_** hung on her back in a similar style as him, she clads in a black blouse Yennefer sent for her via a portal. He gave her his cloak to hide her distinct hair from searching eyes.

Geralt and Ciri wave Vesemir a goodbye and rides their mare alongside each other to their mutual destination in Vengerberg. Springs air brings so many refreshing feels to them as small talks and jests appeared occasionally.

…

… {Price of Justice} …

* * *

At night they’ve reached the village of Croklain, the villagers still have the same skeptical looks and confusions when some of them see a beautiful face under the dark cloak that riding on the white mare, reinforcing their curiosity by a sword on her back and a scary witcher who ride along with her.

They tied their horses in front of the Alderman’s house, the witcher has a roll of a flyer in his hand then knock.

“Aye?” the alderman opens the door and sees the glowing eyes then staggered a little but regains his balance and clear his throat “What is it, mutant?”

Geralt grunts in his throat and showing the flyer to the man, the alderman reading it for a moment then have an understanding look on his face.

“The bitch terrorizes our field and killed many boys since last winter started, now no one ever goes there and our stockpile o’ foods and crops are not near enough to survive, let alone selling for coin.” The alderman rants to him with so much drama in his actions, Geralt fights the urges to roll his eyes at them; leave it to humans to victimized themselves to the fullest for free-helping hands.

Geralt has none of it as he stops the ranting alderman with a simple glare. The alderman gulped and then exhales with frustration.

“That’s none of my business. You issued that the reward was 300 orens. Correct?” Geralt asks.

“Yes…?” the alderman braces himself for the inevitable haggling.

“As you described it, the monsters might be a noon-wraith and judging from her actions? It might be linked to some tragedy that happened to her when she was alive. Usually, noon-wraith does not kill on-sight except for when her remains were disturbed or that she’s a vengeful spirit.” Geralt explaining, much to Ciri who stood beside him with a lowered hood than the alderman.

“What’s the point of all this chatting, witcher? Are ye gonna kill it or not?” The alderman asks with irritation and crossing his arms over his chest, trying so hard to be intimidating even when the witcher stood taller than him by inches.

“I need more information; who she was, what caused her death or who caused her death etcetera.” Geralt replied.

Ciri looking around and notices some boys and many men looking at her as if fixated by something, Ciri quirks her brow at them as a form of question and some averted their staring. Save for some bold ones who returning her gaze with strange gleaming in their eyes, similar to the one that Geralt projected at her whenever they were alone; longing and dumbfounded by something he saw in her. Ciri has an idea of what running in their minds without the need to reading their thoughts, which she could do with some difficulty the same as any other magical conjuring Yennefer taught her.

She smirks and returns her attention towards the chatting again to find that Geralt was now nodding his head after the alderman delayed additional details to him, at least that’s what she thought.

“Hmm…needs more than that, both information and a reward.” Geralt finalized the conversation as he glaring dagger at the alderman, making the man shaking slightly with anger and slight fear.

“How much?” The alderman nearly spits out at Geralt but the brooding mannerism and a handle of steel that protruded from the witcher’s shoulder changed his mind.

“500.” Geralt said simply.

The alderman looks like a gaping fish at the price, then protests vividly “No bloody way, freak!”

“Fine, come on Fiona.” Geralt shrugged his shoulders with no care and make way for the stable, tugging Ciri’s elbow along with him.

Ciri knows better than to say anything; she can see that this alderman was desperate for a solution to his problem and Geralt exploit that fact to his and her benefit. And soon enough she heard the alderman curses.

“Wait! Wait!” he shouts towards them, Geralt has a smug on his face that was visible to Ciri, who standing at his side.

Geralt only quirking his brow back without utter any word, masquerading the stoic face of his perfectly.

“450, I can give ye that much.” The alderman gritted out.

“Deal. I will need 200 upfront, there’s so much to prepare.” Geralt said and shot his hand toward the grumpy man in front of him.

The alderman nods his head tightly and disappears inside the house, then emerges with a decent sized pouch full with orens. He tossed it to the witcher and Geralt snatched it quickly, unlacing to peek inside and hums with satisfaction.

“Where’s the inn?” Geralt asks.

The alderman pointed at a direction at their left “Walk along the street, ye will see it at the right. A fanged pike.”

Geralt nodding and returned to their horse, as Ciri reached Kelpie she sees Geralt giving her the rein of Roach. Ciri stares at him questioningly.

“I will interrogate the villagers a bit, sees if anyone can provide anything useful. You go ahead and book us a room, I will be there shortly.” Geralt said in his usual monotone.

Ciri purses her lips playfully “You are going to let a girl wander around alone, walking into the inn full of men? What if some of them do something?”

“Can’t blame them for trying but I’m sure they will be missing their hands.” Geralt replied and slap her butt firmly.

Ciri yelps in surprises and looking around frantically with blushes creeping up on her cheeks, then kicking Geralt at the shoulder lightly. The witcher chuckles a bit and making his way to the gathering of villagers nearby.

…

Ciri tied Kelpie and Roach at the vacant post, unclasps only valuables down from the saddles and making her way inside.

The inn has many occupants scattered across the room, many drinking heavily with their friends and some indulged themselves with foods and women. Ciri scanning the space for any hidden threat as Geralt’s practicality ingrained in her. When she felt no danger at her vicinity, Ciri proceeds to the counter.

“How can I help ya?” the clerk asks from his position as he’s cleaning a mug.

Ciri drops her things down at her feet and lowered her hood, some whistles and leering comments erupts as soon as the occupant has a good look at what’s hidden underneath.

Ciri rolls her eyes shortly and ordering a mug of Rye, something cool to warm her up for the night. She climbed and sit on the stool then taking her gloves off.

“You have a room?” Ciri asks as she lifts the mug and sipping its contents.

“Aye, small one cost 40 and big cost 50.” The clerk replied and taking another utensil to clean up.

“Is the room at the end of the hallway big or small?” Ciri shooting again and she saw mercenaries surrounding her and checking her out even when she is now covered under Geralt’s cloak.

“What a pretty little thing we have here, lads?” one bearded man puts his elbow on the counter beside her, his breath smelled of strong alcohol.

“Keep your coins, birdy, sleep with us tonight. I guarantee it will be the best night you ever have.” Another one leered at her while inhaling her perfume in, although she has been told to not wearing any fragrances by both Vesemir and Geralt excessively, but a girl must be decent and presentable; according to Yennefer as the sorceress had stashed many vials for her since last year.

Ciri paid them no mind, drinking her Rye peacefully and ignoring any pick-up lines they projecting at her. Eventually, one of them found new courage and grabbing her firm butt lightly.

Fast as lightning Ciri reverse-headbutt the groper hard on his nose, blood spurting and a yelp of pain erupt. Ciri grabs a half-full mug and slammed it on the head of the same person then hooking her jab at his abdomen.

Others of their company stood dumbfounded at the speed of taking down this pretty girl was giving one of their friends. Ciri stands ready for a brawl, her dagger in hand and glaring at them with challenge burns in her irises.

“Your mother never taught you to behave around a lady?” she spat at the groaning man that cocooning himself on the ground.

He grumbles ‘bitch’ from his position, winding as Ciri’s punch was stronger than some of the man he had fought in the past.

“Hey! Hey! Drop it, yall.” The clerk yelled out and he got a cleaver out from under the counter, chopping it down hard and lodged it on the hardwood loudly.

“He started it!” Ciri protests and pointing her dagger at the slowly standing man.

“You bitch! You’ll pay for this!” the whining man shot himself toward her but stopped in his track as a strong grip from the white-haired witcher on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you, man. She’s been trained by witchers at Kaer Morhen.” Geralt said coldly and with no indication of emotes as usual whenever he is in public.

“What’s it to you, freak!? You wanna play knight or something?” the leader asks him as he grabs the wounded one from Geralt’s grip.

“No, but you were bothering my companion and I was so fucking tired right now. I need a fucking bath and a bed to sleep, you all hitting on her preventing that.” Geralt made his way passed the commotion and hooking Ciri’s arm with his hand, ushering her back toward the counter.

Ciri glares at them for the last time and sheath her dagger, following Geralt and hooking her elbows with his while striding alongside him. Not caring for the whispers and comments she’s picking up from her improved hearing.

The commotion subsided as soon as they saw the ashen-haired beauty put her head on the witcher’s shoulder in a manner that so clear than any words could convey; they are together.

Geralt felt a little bit uneasy at the attention he got from Ciri’s show of affection, but he’s not going to complain or stops her.

…

They hurled their things inside after the clerk gave them the key, the last room at the end of the hallway. Ciri dropped her bag down as soon as they’ve passed the threshold and jumping on the cot like an excited child.

Geralt chuckles silently and grabbing her bag then settled them down at the bedside, while Ciri stretching like a cat on the mattress.

“How’s the bed?” Geralt asks as Ciri sighs contentedly and slumps deeper into it.

“A bit small but comfortable enough,” Ciri jumping up and down on it and smirks at him after she got the answer to her curiosity “and sturdy enough to withhold some… _wrestling_.”

“Hmm…is that so?” Geralt purr at her as he climbed the bed, lying between her legs and nuzzling her neck.

She hums a reply and untying his bun and raking her fingers through his white tresses, scratching his scalp that eliciting a hum of appreciation from his throat that sent vibrations to her as he kissing her collarbone.

Geralt untangled himself after a long moment and stripping off his armor, clad now only in a black shirt and tight-pants, Ciri follows up with unlacing her blouse and shred the pants off. Their clothes piling up on the floor.

Geralt put a hand on her to stops the advance and plastering confusion on her pretty face “I will get something for us to eat, you get some nap first. I’ll wake you up when the meal and the bath are ready.” Geralt declared and plant a light kiss on her forehead. Ciri exhales with resignation and jumped back onto the bed, groaning frustratingly.

“Hold your horse, Ciri, I got decent leads on the wraith. Noon-wraith appears fully at midday and midnight, it might be a fight, so conserves your energy.” Geralt chuckles and relieved as Ciri perking her ears at him after the revelation, excitements burn in her eyes for the upcoming hunt.

“Should I be greasing our blades?” Ciri asks with cheerily and bubbly chirps and sitting up on the bed, looking at him with anticipation and hope.

“Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.” Geralt answered and after Ciri almost jumped off the bed, he got out of the room.

…

“Remember. Wraiths are tricky, they can make themselves incorporeal and taking no harm from us as long as they’re still tethered to this plain.” Geralt lectures her as the two walkings together down the direction leading to the field that’d been haunted.

“We must find out what bound her spirit, destroy it and then she will be forced to take a physical form. And then we can kill her with silver.” Ciri finished for him and Geralt nods at her proudly.

“Well done, Ciri. Vesemir’s teaching is not entirely lost then.” Geralt crooned her and got pushed away by Ciri.

“So. Did you figure out what bound her?” Ciri asks him again after a long moment and looking around the dark scenery.

“Not sure yet, but I have my suspicion. That’s why I need a second set of eyes observing things.” Geralt replied and signals Ciri to follow him into the thick bushes.

“How often did that happened?” Ciri whispered to him as Geralt settled down on his knee, looking straight at the center of the field.

“Brainstorming or a woman become a wraith.” Geralt quirk a brow without looking at her, Ciri pouts and sitting down beside him, pressing her body into his side.

“You and your stupid questions…” Ciri grumbles out and Geralt has a smug as he jabs his finger at her temple, pushing her head a little bit as a jest.

“Not much, I hunted alone. But having a company is not too bad.” Geralt replied and handed her a jerky. Ciri rubbing her temple a bit and biting on the offered meat without taking it out of his hand.

“Jaskier? He told me he accompanied you a lot.” Ciri said while chewing the sticky dried pork-strip.

“He has his uses; makes them angry and irritates, including me sometimes.” He snorts out “But he couldn’t fight like you, usually just haggling payment and dealing with merchants.”

“And compose songs.” Ciri offers and they’re laughing quietly among themselves.

“Yeah…never know when to stop.” Geralt finished.

“How is he, though?” Ciri whispers again as she can feel the air turning to unnatural chill.

“Might be studying in Lan Exeter by now. With a new friend of him.” Geralt recalled the travel he had with the minstrel and the barber-surgeon.

“A new friend? Is she pretty?” Ciri nudged him. Geralt chuckles.

“Yes and no, this one can either be he or she; depends on which they prefer at times.” Geralt deadpanned and felt his medallion shaking slightly.

“What? A Doppler?” Ciri felt some disturbances in the Chaos around her as well and some coldness seeps into her bones.

“Higher Vampire.” Ciri snaps her face to him as soon as she registered what he said and about to bombarded him with questions when the screeching sounds piercing the silence.

Noon-wraith appears at the center of the field, her tattered dress flowing around her ghostly skeletal form and atrophied skins outlining her ethereal body, disheveled black hair floating around her face like a halo. Fogs enveloped her and with only a sight at this distance, Ciri’s still felt her whole being chilled down by dreads and fears.

Geralt grabs her hand firmly and reassuringly. Ciri squeezes his hand back and forces her body and mind to stop shaking. The wraith soaring around slowly, freeze the dirt in her wake and looking around as if expecting someone to come for her.

Geralt talks without sound directly to her ear, hot breath contrasting the icy atmosphere coming off of the wraith “What do you see?”

Ciri observing the wraith intensely while Geralt waiting for her with patience.

The tattered dress has been torn by forces, her neck adorned with fingers-mark wrapped around and at an odd angle, her eyes burn with hatred and finding someone to kill. Then what the alderman said earlier came back to her; _boys were killed._

“She’s been raped and killed, here.” Ciri grunts out silently with spites and hatred laced within her words.

“Hmm, right. And what do we do?” Geralt questioned her. Ciri thinks hard for a while.

“We kill the bastard and then we deal with her.” Ciri growls out darkly, Geralt squeezes her hand tightly and clicking his tongue at her disapprovingly.

“Remember the oath you take?” Geralt asks again as she’s still fuming.

“Yes.” She gritted out.

“You are not a judge or a jury nor an executioner, Ciri. You are a witcher. And you must think like one. We are professionals, we do not let emotions guided out blades.” Geralt scolds her as he still felt a thirst for blood from her.

“I know! But it’s not fair that the bastard has to live, he doesn’t deserve it!” Ciri growls out under her breath.

“Don’t meddle, just do our jobs.” Geralt chided her again. And they retreated from the stakeout back to the village.

…

Ciri bathing and dressed in haste while Geralt watching her worriedly. This is exactly like what he was back when he got his first contract; frustrated, angry and wanted to bring some justice to satisfy oneself. She was now combing her hair angrily, growls and hissing at each knot that met with her rake.

“Ciri…” Geralt starts but the woman stops him in his track with only an index finger.

“Don’t try to lecture me.” Ciri growls out coldly, filled with suppressed rage.

“It’s just a reality of this job; we kill monsters, take the coin and then be on our way.” Geralt grumbles out as he slowly approaching her.

“That’s bullshit.” Ciri replied with the same amount of venom.

Geralt grabs her hand and Ciri snaps her fierce gazes to him, tugging her hand out of his grip but to no avail as Geralt’s grip is much stronger.

“You acted as if it’s not bothering you, which is why I’m not so sure anymore which one of you I should trust; the caring one you are with me or the cold-hearted witcher you are now.” Ciri tugs again but Geralt never loosen his grip.

“Ciri…” Geralt tries again, the ashen-haired woman stays silent and never attempting to pry her hand again. Geralt sighs deeply and releasing it himself to run a hand through her gleaming curtain, still damp and disheveled.

“There’s nothing we can do to avenge her, my little star. That’s not what we are supposed to do, our job here is more important than that; to help her let go so that she might find peace in wherever her afterlife is.” Ciri is not sitting there anymore as she stood up and storming towards the bed, laying down heavily and huffs.

Geralt sighs and slowly walking to her, sitting down on the mattress and facing the grumpy face of Cirilla. Putting a hand on her flat and muscled stomach “Would you at least listen to what I’m going to say?” he asks with uncertainty and hope.

Ciri keeps silent and makes no move to get his hand off her, Geralt takes that as a yes.

“I want this to be your first contract, so I will not interfere with your decision again. Tomorrow you will take the rein, I will only be there to watch and keep silent. Alright?” Geralt asked as he tries to look for her eyes, Ciri turning her emerald eyes to him.

“Why a sudden change of heart?” Ciri asks him skeptically. Searching his stoic face for any ill intent.

“Just realized that I could not, and should not, hold your hands through these. You’re not my underling anymore and I should stop treating you like one.” Geralt’s answer looks sincere and very in character for him, Ciri took the façade without worries or concerns to his hidden agenda.

Ciri sits up and rests her head on his shoulder, the two of them looking at the fireplace in peaceful silence.

After a long moment, Ciri finally accepted the terms “Okay. I will talk to you now.” Ciri smile a little at him.

Geralt snorts and mocking her sarcastic comment about his uncaring personality earlier.

“Come on!” Ciri pleads him, nudging his side playfully “It was a stupid grumpy talk and I’m so sorry!” Ciri hugs him and resting her chin on his collarbone, looking up in his amber irises.

Geralt kisses the top of her head, the bridge of her nose and says “It’s just I used to express that kind of behavior when I’m on a job. The Geralt you knew when we are alone isn’t some act I conducted to trick you, Ciri. I might never say it enough but godsdamnit I love you.” Geralt growls with ferocious sincerity.

Ciri couldn’t look him in the eyes. Geralt sighs and makes a stand.

“Where are you going?” Ciri sitting up and asks as he’s about to reach the door.

“Drink. You should get some sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long day.” Geralt was out of the door before she could protest anything. Ciri opted to just latch it and slumped back down on the bed again, breathing heavily and forces her eyes shut.

…

Ciri’s walking ahead of him. Geralt never went back to the room that night, he got drunk and passed out down at the tavern until morning comes and Ciri awoke him.

The woman is exceptionally silent since they got out of the inn, reined their mares and strode around the village. They’ve interrogated several villagers already but so far nothing concrete about who’s the one that the noon-wraith was bound to.

Geralt has a stoic face and intimidating aura whenever he’s looming behind her as she interrogates anyone. Many dismissed her and instead tried talking with Geralt and frustration slowly building up inside.

Around an hour before midday they’ve found the culprit, it was a teenager four or five years older than herself, at first, he denied any knowledge about the murdered girl at the field but after Ciri caught his body language and agitation of being asked about his crime. She kicked him in the groin.

“What da fuck is ya problem!” the man’s uncle shouts at her and knelt to lift his nephew up.

“Your nephew is a monster!” Ciri yelled at him with such intensity and volume that nearby villagers are gathering around them. Geralt remained his calmness and uncaring façade but scanning his sharp eyes for any courageous-fools that might try to stop her.

“Shut up you bitch! My nephew is a decent man! You are delusional.” The uncle yelling back.

Ciri projecting her voice loudly “This decent man of yours raped and killed a girl! She’s the one who’s haunting your field!” murmuring villagers looking at her skeptically; not only because she’s a woman but she’s traveling with a witcher to boot, only the crazes associated themselves with witcher.

Geralt stands still and watching the whole play; he intends to force the reality on her hard and swift to spare her the prolonged pain of viewing the world in her naïveté.

Ciri continued her spats with the uncle and his nephew for a while, until finally, it turns into a fistfight between the rapist/murderer and the young witcheress.

Or, it was Ciri whooping the taller teenager’s ass with practical ease and no effort, drawing blood from his nose and broken teeth.

Geralt discreetly throws a washcloth down at the splatter of blood on the ground while Ciri giving the rapist another kick in the groin.

The alderman and his henchmen rushing in and restrain both of them by their necks, Ciri growls while thrashing to get another foot into the wounded man’s ass.

“What the fuck happened!?” The alderman shouts, shutting down the commotion around them.

“This crazy bitch attacked my son!” the mother comes at the scene, spitting the word ‘bitch’ at Ciri with an accused finger.

“Your bastard of a son raped a girl and murdered her!” Ciri grunts back while fights the restraining men that holding her.

“Liar! My son would never do that! You are crazy, little bitch!” the mother spat at her and the men have to use all of their strength to hold the feral girl that tries to kick the older woman.

“I’m not! Your son was shaken and looking around frantically when I asked him about the murder! He’s guilty!” the last part she’s yelling at the alderman.

“Shut it, both of you!” The alderman yelled back, scolding the two of them to silence and rubbing the temple of his head “I can’t believe that I let you in our village…and you, witcher, do you have any proof of the accusation this girl of yours put on my charge?” he directed the question at Geralt.

The whole mob glares at him right now, Geralt knelt to grab the washcloth from the ground and tugged it in his pocket. He said nothing for a moment and then “She’s right, this boy has signs suggesting that he’s the one committed the crime, the look, the fidgeting, and swaying and the sweating.” Geralt relayed calmly.

Villagers around them start whispering; most decided that Ciri and Geralt’s words are a fraud and an excuse for them to beat up someone, some even curse them at harming one of their own.

“I cannot know for sure that your words held any truth, and I hired you to deal with the monster not one of my people.” The alderman growls at him and looking back toward Ciri, whose eyes go wide and face plastered with disbelief.

“How can you say that!? We are professionals about this kind of stuff! This is what we found out about the wraith that haunts your field and killed your men!” Ciri cries out and trying hard to pry herself off from their vise grips.

“So fucking kill the wraith then! Why are you here to terrorizes my villagers? Might be best to lock you up for a day or two, cooling your head down a bit, huh?” the alderman shouts at her.

Villagers around them cheers and spits at the both of them, humiliations and curses been shot at Geralt and her. Ciri felt like someone drowning her in a shallow pond; she knows she could fight back but lacks the strength to do so.

Now some even throw pebbles at her, blessed the henchmen for they shielding her from most but some still drawing blood from her. Geralt simply shielded himself with his arms and walking to the alderman.

“I have everything now, I will be taking the rest of my payment and we’ll be on our way.” Geralt said without any trace of emotion.

The alderman looked at him with ridicule, Geralt sighs frustratingly and proposes a new deal “150 and the lock-up will not be necessary?” The alderman is skeptical for a moment but then pushes a pouch of orens in his hand.

“Get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back, fucking mutants.” at the last part, he hissed alternating between Geralt and Ciri. The witcher nods and leading their mares towards the captured ashen-haired woman then taking her from the men, positioning her between Roach and Kelpie to prevent any stoning to collide with her.

Ciri sobs silently while wiping her tears with ferocious anger, following Geralt away from the cursing crowd.

…

Geralt gauged the time by the position of their shadows and hurriedly began the ritual.

Ciri was silent the whole time, quietly alternating between sobbing and wiping her tears, aches come from wherever her skin breaks from thrown rocks.

“Ciri.” Geralt ordering her and Ciri reluctantly joining him in front of the small bonfire.

“You remember the ritual?” Geralt questioned in his working tone, one of many new things she will have to get used to.

“…yes.” Her voices are hoarse and shaking.

“You are not in a state to fight, starts the ritual and stays out. Here.” Geralt handed her the washcloth that now has the rapist’s blood in it.

“The blood?” Ciri asks him as Geralt down Lightning Fox, one potion that heightens his reflexes and reactions.

“You need a murderer to summon a vengeful spirit, yes, but there’s nothing specific about how you get them or in what form.” Geralt replied as his eyes turned black and his skins now paler than usual.

“I’m so stupid…” Ciri whimpers again but Geralt shut her down with a hiss.

“Save it for later. You have a job to do.” Geralt unclasps anything that has no use in the fight off from himself.

He whirling his silver tentatively, weighing the weight of the weapon back and forth as a form of stretching while Ciri starts chanting in the dialect.

After the last word has been spoken, a strong wind passed them by and heading to the village.

A screeching scream erupts from the direction it went and a moment later the apparition taking form at the center of the field, the same spot Ciri saw it last night and presumably where the poor girl died.

Ciri retreats quickly as Geralt casts _Yrden_ around himself, created a magical ring that trapped the wraith.

“Let’s dance.” Geralt grunts as the wraith launching at him. Geralt retracts his neck out of the arc of the wraith’s talons in time due to Lightning Fox’s effect and countered with an upward vertical slash that hit her in the chest, the wraith screams bloodily at him and his sensitive hearing taking the blow, staggering away from her.

Geralt felt air shifting and his muscle memories save him from a deadly neck wound by aligning the silver blade to intercepts the thrusting claws. Geralt quickly covering his body with _Quen_ and dances around evading the swipes and stabs from the wraith, waiting for the ringing in his ears to dissipates.

As another thrust about to puncture his jugular, Blackened meteorite of **_Dhu’Aine_** severed the wraith’s deadly limb by the elbow with practiced accuracy. The wraith screech again but shut up by Ciri’s powerful kinetic burst that akin to _Aard_.

Geralt rolling out and looking at her, Ciri circling the wraith with a grace of the lioness that’s hunting her prey, making eye contact and the woman gave him a tight smirk “This is my contract, right?” Ciri yells at him from the opposite direction, Geralt snorts and dodging another launch from the spirit.

“You go left, I’ll take the right.” Geralt informed her and they quickly fall into a cooperative dancing they have trained excessively back at the keep. The wraith has no chances as whenever she clawed at Geralt she would get a searing cut from Ciri and vice versa.

In the end, Ciri was the one who finished the job, her Wraith oil greased blade lodged in the wraith’s sternum as the monster slowly disintegrates into a pile of dust.

Geralt regain his breathing and sheath his sword, walking to the kneeling ashen-haired woman to urges her.

“Can’t we rest for a bit?” Ciri whines out as Geralt is practically dragging her to Kelpie and hurls her up the saddle.

“Better go now.” Geralt nod his head toward the village and Ciri followed his signal and sees a group of villagers carrying a body of the rapist towards the field, armed to the teeth.

“What the hell?” Ciri is still confused by the whole sight as Geralt slaps Kelpie to spurting forward. Ciri yelps out in surprise.

“Go!” he shouts to both Ciri and Roach as the two gallopings away from Croklain at break-neck speed.

…

They’ve set a campfire at the side of the road, after the escape from the lynch mob of Croklain.

Ciri slouched on the giant root of the ancient oak as soon as she dropped her things down. Geralt dismount and setting up the sleeping cot.

Ciri groans at all the aches she felt, trying to massaging all the knots that formed since the fight and their recent gallops.

Geralt made a quick work of the bonfire by cheating with _Igni_ and setting the smoked meat to roasts it. Walking behind the groaning woman and swatting her hands away.

Ciri moans with relief as Geralt starts massaging her neck, his warm hands melting her bones.

“Hmm…that’s good.” Ciri crooned out at him and Geralt loosen his effort.

“How do you feel?” he asks and Ciri snorts out, ushering him to continue.

“Sore.” Said that in a matter of fact tone while urging Geralt.

“About the villagers.” Geralt clarified and Ciri straightens her back, falls into silence and looking at the fire.

Geralt kept his hands on her but trailing them to her shoulders, squeezing them firmly and reassuringly.

“I don’t understand why they couldn’t see the truth, why were they not listened to what we were saying. I tried to help them but all they do was stoning me and tried to kill us.” Ciri whispers out to him and Geralt plant a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“Fear. They’re afraid of the outsider. Because witchers are monsters to them, too.” Ciri slumped back into him and Geralt rocking them back and forth, consoling her turmoil “We just happened to be a kind that can be paid to kill another kind, so they tolerate us to a degree, but as soon as they felt threatened? They turn their hatred into a weapon.” Geralt said as Ciri hugging his arms closer.

“And what you did reinforce their fear; you can take down a mercenary with three strikes, you knocked that kid down without breaking a sweat.”

“And they afraid that I would kill everyone?” Ciri cranes her neck to side-glance at the witcher.

“They saw what you can do, and seeing you traveling with a monster like me? Do the math.” Geralt deadpanned.

“That’s bullshit! Witchers killed monsters, we are not some crazy killer running around slitting throats as we please!” Ciri protests.

“Actually…” Geralt trails off.

Ciri looked at him with wide eyes “You did!?” Ciri tried putting a distance between herself and the witcher, Geralt just chuckles ridiculously at her and shaking his head.

“No! Of course not.” Geralt felt Ciri’s pushes soften and soon she falls into his arms again “But their fear based on facts, there are some that fit those pictures perfectly; the Cats.”

“I heard stories about them once, they say one cat slaughtered the whole village for a pouch of coin.” Ciri looked at him.

Geralt hums and sitting down on the same level as hers, side by side “Yes, he killed the villagers but it was because they’ve cheated and tried to kill him.” Ciri searches his face and saw a trace of nostalgia.

“You know him?” and Geralt nods.

“Gerten, a witcher from the school of the cat. He told me that.” Geralt clarified as he poking the fire to even out the heat “True that one witcher could kill the whole village all by himself. Usually, it just that there are reasons for such an event to occur.” Ciri watched him roasting the meat.

“Where is he now?” Ciri asks after Geralt flips the other side to roast.

“He died at some altar in the woods.” Geralt replied.

“Gravehag? Wraith?” The ashen-haired woman guesses but Geralt dismissed any monster she said.

“My steel.”

…

At midnight as she lay on top of his chest, hugging his arms around her torso and enjoying the chilled gales of wind passing them by.

Geralt never took his armor off and instructed her to always be aware, there are so many dangers lurking around them as of now.

Eventually, the memory of the dead rapist in the arms of his uncle that followed by angry villagers who want their blood came back to her mind.

“Geralt?” Ciri calls him.

Geralt stirs from his trance and grunt an acknowledgment to her.

“What happened to that rapist?” Ciri's question comes out full of curiosity and confusion.

“Blood ritual happened.” Geralt answered casually.

“The wraith killed him?” Ciri shoots another one.

“It’s a part of the summoning. When you use the blood of a killer, the spirit will take their revenge and then it’ll appear in its physical form. That’s when a witcher can send them off.” Geralt’s answer makes Ciri shot up and spun around on his lap.

“So, when you scold me about wanting to kill him…” Ciri trails off.

“It’s because I needed him alive for the ritual to work, and you are not the one that has any right to killing him. If you go along with your stubborn plan she would have been impossible to deal with.” Geralt said with his usual monotone akin to when he's lecturing her “And to teach you about consequences; those people willing to kill you even though you only beating one of them and accusing him of a crime, imagine what they would do if you outright killed the bastard?” Geralt quirks a brow at her and felt relief washed over him as Ciri taking his lecture in and processing it.

“There is a question of price in every decision one makes, Ciri. I just wanted you to know that, even if it’ll be hard to take, you can’t fancy yourself as a hero in this world and expecting everyone to like you. They see the world in a certain spectrum that so different or similar to yours, I chose neutrality as a way to survive not because I wanted to.”

…

“Any progress?” a cold voice asks from the entrance as Caranthir busy himself with the locating device that his mentor, Avallac’h, invented as a form of tracking the first bearer; Lara Dorren.

“As I said many days ago, Ge’els, this device needs more times and practices to master given that the bastard who invented it wasn’t aware and away like this.” Caranthir growls towards the viceroy.

“Did you at least have any updates then? Our king grows anxious about the whole thing and now regretting the decision he gave you access to his most trusted advisor’s belongings.” Ge’els spit out as he trails his velvet-gloved fingers along ridges of Avallac’h confiscated devices.

King Auberon agreed to give them access to the **_Aen Saevherne_** ’s laboratory a week ago after said sage disappeared on his usual pursuit of knowledge, as he put it himself. In hope of pinpointing the location of the latest bearer of **_Aen Hen Ichaer_** on the world of the **_Aen Seidhe_**. So far it is still fruitless even if they had assigned the greatest mind of all the **_Aen Elle_** like one as Caranthir to the task.

“There are so many pings I have found, but the intensity of the Power is so low that it would have been a residue of Lara’s trails rather than the heiress. The most potent points are still located at **_Tor Lara_** and **_Tor Dhu_**.” Caranthir relays them to Ge’els and stretching a bit as he fumbling with said navigator the whole night.

“Useless…” Ge’els hissed out and Caranthir snorts.

“Might say that to the Commander then, see if he’s willing to indulging your concerns, Viceroy.” At that two riders comes, clads in full armor of the **_Dearg Ruadhri_**.

The two salutes them both “Viceroy Ge’els. General Ar-Feiniel. Commander sent us to escort you to **_Tir ná Lia_**.”

Ge’els produced a disgusting sound and snorts with frustration and disdain, while Caranthir magically cladding himself in his formal armor of the navigator.

“Tell Eredin that I have more important matters than his stupid hunt. **_Va Fail_** , Caranthir Ar-Feiniel.” Without even a salute Ge’els walked out of the lab passed the two soldiers.

As Caranthir reached the arch of the entrance he was greeted by Imlerith and his towering height that still irritates Caranthir all these times.

“Golden boy.” The taller elf smirks at the navigator. Caranthir grunts out and walked with the others into the vast interior of the tower.

Their commander, Eredin, stood calmly at the center of the runic circles clads in his armor befitting his moniker; the Dread.

The company salutes Eredin and get on their knees. The commander of the Wild Hunt turns around and greeting them.

“ ** _Ceádmil_** , my friends. The last stock we gathered is now depleted by half, with the process of the _Naglfar_ at this rate we shan’t have that.” Eredin gestures for Caranthir “Navigator, open the portal to **_Fen y Seidhe_**.”

…

… {A Definition of Love} …

* * *

Ciri and Geralt ride their mares passed the strange scenery, a snow-covered landscape of a village in the middle of spring.

It’s been days since Croklain and they’ve got closer to Vengerberg by a week. Ciri was restless and after riding for days without a bath, she wishes to screams in frustration at all the itches creeping on her nooks and curves under the leather armor she got a day ago.

Calling it an armor might be exaggerating, it was consisting of a shoulder pauldron on her left, two metal bracers and a reinforced corset; all crafted by cured leather inlaid with silver-studs. Aiming for full mobility.

After that wraith, Ciri followed Geralt through the path and came across many monsters both from a contract and sheer bad-luck of the two combined. Until they’ve reached this frozen village.

“What the fuck…” Ciri whispered to herself and look around, seeing snows and blood covered the ground and the chilled air invading her lungs as she’s breathing in. Geralt keeps silent and throttle Roach slowly, taking in and analyzes everything in sight.

There’s no sign of survivors or even a single corpse, only splatters of blood that turned patches of snow into crimson crystals and prints of hoofs all over the place and the vicinity of the village.

“It was like…” Ciri trails off while searching for a fitting word.

“A raid, taking every single one of the villagers and then disappeared.” Geralt finished for her. Ciri nodding without taking her eyes off the mysterious scene around her.

“The Wild Hunt?” Ciri recalled the event that Jaskier told them a year ago and felt chill creeps up her spine.

“Looks like it.” Geralt replied and stops Roach to get down and inspecting the area. Ciri followed him.

“There’s no trail at all, not even a distinct smell of a horse or anything.” Geralt grumbles and rubbing his temple in confusion.

Ciri registered his information and interject “Like they were just popping in, round up everyone and popping out of thin air?” Geralt nods his head along with her.

“How did this possible? What kind of monsters are they?” Ciri asks again.

“No idea.” Geralt sighed with resignation and stood up, lifting Ciri along with him “Probably some type of wraith, like the legends about them suggested.” He shrugged his shoulders and making way back to their tied mares.

“What if they come for us? Do you think silver would work?” Ciri questioned again as she’s mount Kelpie.

“Maybe. No point dwelling any longer though. Come on, we got a whole day to ride on.” Geralt signaled her to keep on going and Ciri obliged reluctantly.

…

Around midday, Ciri is feeling like the gods favored and blessed her with their kindness as Geralt steered into the deep woods and led them into a river with a small waterfall.

Geralt saw Ciri nearly squeals in delight and practically jumping off her saddle. He chuckles endearingly and taking their mares to a fitting spot full with fresh grasses.

“Geralt! Look! A waterfall!” Ciri screaming cheerily at him and pointing her fingers frantically and skipping around happily, bringing a smile to Geralt as he has missed this side of her.

“Yeah, good find.” Geralt said and approaching her from behind, taking her onto his arms and marching towards the waterfall Ciri giggling on his arms and loosen the tie of her corset and blouse.

Ciri slithered down and stripping quickly, piling her clothes and protective gear near the shore and without any warning, jumps down in the cool water with big splashes. Geralt looking at the way Ciri is diving under the water giddily and humming happily to himself; a small slice of normalcy he felt after a lifetime of pain and suffering.

Ciri resurfaced again after seconds of swimming wildly under the translucent streams. The biggest grin plastered on her newly clean face is the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Ciri gleefully splashes at him and urging the witcher to undress and join her already.

Geralt strips his outfit off and piled them up beside hers, descending himself down into the crystal water and swims towards her. Ciri’s cheery laughs eliciting a burst of genuine laughter out of the brooding witcher.

They cleaning each other excessively with delicate touches, occasionally kissing another one all over and starting small talks silently between themselves about nothing and anything,

Ciri slurring into a slumber as she hung her arms around and pillowed her head at the crook of his neck, while Geralt hums a peaceful melody that Jaskier composed a long time ago and floating the two of them around slowly and steadily to enjoying the blessed silence that surrounded them.

Geralt sighs contentedly as he settled on a boulder underwater that allowed for lounging and half-submerging still, resting his aching body there with the lithe and beautiful body of Ciri draped on him.

…

Ciri awakens with refreshing feeling and heard soft snoring comes off of Geralt under her.

The ashen-haired woman laid her head down on his chest and trailing scars of him with light as a feather touches, trying not to interrupt his hard-earn sleep. Smiling to herself at how innocent he looked without ridges and lines of cautious and worries automated his facial muscles.

Roach and Kelpie snort softly while nibbling grasses and Ciri listening to his slowed heartbeat and finds a rhythm within them, humming along silently and pressing soft kisses on his damp skins and scars lovingly. Wondering about how she ended up with him at the end and sighs with a full heart before laying her head down onto his rising and falling sternum, playing with his silver wolf-head medallion.

Ciri was about to fall asleep again when the feeling of his hands roaming her backside sent shivers coursing through her body and felt his lips kissing her temple and she’s been lifted to bring her nose to his, Ciri eagerly kissing him back.

No words have been spoken between them as their bodies rocked into one another in a rhythmic dance of love, soft moans and cries blended in with the forest song around them.

…

Ciri’s hips protest angrily when they’ve reached the border town of Aedirn. A big city filled with peoples and merchants of different races and nations haggling about in the marketing square. No one pays any attention to the two of them as much as small villages they’d pass before but Geralt was grateful for that as he detests attention been put on him unnecessarily.

Two hooded figures striding their mares directly through the crowds, their destination is at the local inn Geralt and Yennefer once stayed decades ago.

The inside is very lively as men and women drinking, chatting, competing and fighting drunkenly all across the interior of the two stories-height building. The witcher walking after Ciri as she’s heading towards the counter.

“Hello! What can I do for you, young lady?” the owner asked from behind the counter and directing her charges around at the same time, making Ciri impressed by the fact that a woman can do something important on her own.

“Me and my companion here,” Ciri said with girly voices and pointing Geralt at the mention “we rode in all day. So, I was hoping that you might have a room for us to stay the night?” Ciri beaming at the owner who shot an amused smile at Ciri.

“Of course, dear. But do you have money for it? My room cost 60 orens.” The owner said to Ciri and Geralt approached, the owner looks at him and after she saw his glowing eyes under the hood, she has a confused expression shooting at Ciri.

“Girl, why are you travel around with a witcher?” there’s no hatred laces in the word as anyone else, just pure confusion and curiosity of the strange paring.

“He’s my…bodyguard, a guardian if you will. My parents paid for him to accompany me on a trip to Vengerberg.” Ciri lied flawlessly without even a stutter, Geralt shooting his brows up impressively at the speed of which she has conducted a cover-up.

“Vengerberg? Are you going there for the sorceress?” The owner asks again with a quirking eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m going there to meet with Yennefer of Vengerberg, it’s about a business she has with my family.” Ciri goes along with her made-up story seamlessly and acted like a rich girl from a merchant family that loves adventuring around; the usual type.

“So coincidental! Her raven brought me a message this morning to prepare a room for an emerald-eyed girl who traveled with a witcher, payment in advance plus some extra coins for services that you might need.” Ciri looked at Geralt and sees the witcher smirk at her.

“Lovely, then! I might put in some praises with my dad when I get back home.” Ciri plays along and received a key from the owner.

“The biggest room on the second floor, blue door.” The owner directing them and ordering her men to get their belongings ahead of the two. “Would you be needing anything else? A dinner perhaps, or a hot bath?”

At that Ciri’s eyes lit up and she told the owner to bring all of the offers to their room, intending to comforting herself with Yennefer’s money as much as possible.

…

Today might be his lucky day.

Stefan Skellen sat here since morn as Leo Bonhart’s reports yield no satisfying result at finding the girl despite it has been almost a year. The blasted bounty hunter has a nerve to demands more compensation after his encounter with the witcher, who is now standing beside the princess in the same tavern as his, and nearly died.

Skellen was no fool; he knows well how skilled and dangerous this White Wolf is and would not engage with such arrogant. He intends to just observe and collecting information while he can like an intelligence officer he is.

…

“Can’t believe we could get a free room like this.” Ciri chirps happily as she drops dead on the lush mattress and moans at the comforts it brings.

“Not about to complain though, she tends to spoil you.” Geralt groan in ecstasy as he slumping on a chair, letting his aching bones have some sort of comfort.

Ciri giggling as she splayed and rolling around on the big bed, stripping her armor and boots off and tossing it without care, Geralt did the same and proceeds to maintenance his swords.

Ciri approaches him and hugging his neck from behind, watching the witcher working in silence.

…

“Ahh…that’s better.” Geralt moan as Ciri’s hands finds the right spot and starts massaging his shoulders firmly.

Geralt closes his eyes and laid back to rest at the rim of the bathtub, the warm water and the massage from Ciri was all he could think about at the moment. Ciri straddling him while giving the massages to him, both with her hands and her hips.

“The shoulder? Or your cock?” Ciri purrs at him and stifled a moan as Geralt thrusting upward a little at her teasing.

“Everything is better with you.” Geralt croons and biting her neck softly, squeezing a mewling sound out of her. His hands roaming her side and back tentatively and his callouses scathing her soft skins in the best way possible. The bathtub might be their favorite place yet.

“Hmm…a charming witcher. I like that.” Ciri whispers and pushing his head down to her breasts as she lifting her body up and about to sliding down again.

Geralt hums as he taking her perky pink nubs in his mouth, between his teeth and playfully applies more pressure to lock it in place then swipes his tongue lightly.

Her grips on his shoulder tighten as he continues the foreplay. Ciri couldn’t think straight anymore and lost entirely in his sensational touches and the hot flesh that thrusting in and out of her core.

Her silent cry of ecstasy came as soon as his warmth shooting inside her womb and Geralt pull her down hard on his hipbones as to keep her there forever.

“I love you…” Geralt whispered to her ears as she soars in the waves of orgasm.

“Hmm…I know.” Ciri whimpered out with exhaustion, feeling some of his seeds seeping out from under her.

“My, my, bad timing, haven’t I?” Yennefer said with amusement as she registered the scene she’s walking into when she emerged from the portal.

“Lady Yennefer!” Ciri blushes angrily with embarrassment and trying to cover her nakedness from the Sorceress. Yennefer only snorts out with an amused smile at her.

“You could say that again, Yen.” Geralt groans as he rolls his head backward and exhales loudly, facepalming himself.

“Glad to see you are enjoying yourselves.” Yennefer smirks as she purposefully sits at the rim of the tub, stroking Ciri’s hair lovingly while the younger woman hides her reddened face away.

…

The dinner is somewhat uncomfortable for Ciri as the ashen-haired woman looking at anywhere but Yennefer and Geralt, still embarrassing to the fact that the sorceress walked in on them. Thank the gods that Yennefer didn’t appear when she was rocking and roaring on Geralt.

The witcher doesn’t seem to be bothered by that as she is, eating casually and chatting with Yennefer like the early event never occurred. Ciri steals a glance at both of them.

Yennefer quirking her immaculate brow at the blushing girl that playing with her food rather than eating and reaches her hand to lift Ciri’s chin, turning her evading eyes towards her violet ones.

“Why so silent, Duckling? Not hungry?” Yennefer smirks at her and feigned concerns and unknowing voices towards the cherry-red cheeks girl that gulping air like a shored fish.

“It’s…It’s…How are you two acts so normal?! You saw me fucked Geralt for gods sake!” Geralt coughing with his half-chew chicken at the outburst of Ciri, the girl’s face impossibly reddened more and more.

“It’s not like it was the first time.” Yennefer shrugged.

“So many that I’ve lost count.” Geralt grumbles out as he eases the food down with wine.

“You guys are weird.” Ciri groans after a moment of registering the details.

“Said the one who rode a witcher in a bathtub.” Yennefer quips back and Geralt laughs out.

Ciri was dumbfounded and alternating her disbelief gaze between the two.

…

Ciri hums happily as she’s sitting in front of the sorceress and let the older woman taking care of her. Yennefer have told them after dinner that she wished to take Ciri to Vengerberg due to an urgent matter of choosing dresses for the banquet and sightings of nilfgaardians’ spies inside Aedirn.

‘ _It’ll be best that I take her with me via a portal, you can join us in Gors Velen later. The festivity begins in a week._ ’ Yennefer declared to them.

Ciri's torn between continue traveling with Geralt and just portal away with Yennefer until Geralt says “Might be able to make it there in 5 days.” And looking at her “What do you say, Ciri?”

“Sounds good. I want to spend time with ma—lady Yennefer.” Ciri almost choked when the word nearly fell out of her mouth, Yennefer chuckles softly and stroking her hair at the stuttering.

“Hmm. That’s settled then. Are you going to take her there now or what?” Geralt directed his question toward Yennefer and the sorceress immediately respond.

“No, she can do it herself in the morning. I do not intend to destroy your lovely night more than I should, Witcher.” Yennefer quips at him reassuringly and finished with her caring routine. Stand up and reaching inside her dress then produced a trinket for Ciri.

“Here, my ugly one. Break it down with your heel when you are ready to go, this special portal can’t be track by any magical or physical means.” Ciri took it and inspecting the simple-looking trinket that is smaller than Geralt’s medallion.

“You sure we can’t go together at morn?” Ciri asks with hope.

“I have works to do back home, Cirilla. You get some rest now, and I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.” Yennefer plant a loving kiss on the girl’s forehead and they embrace each other.

Ciri and Geralt stood beside one another in a long silence with Ciri fidgeting her new trinket from Yennefer after said sorceress portaled back to her mansion. Ciri sighs and finally put the trinket down on the nightstand, reaching her arms around his neck and pressing herself into him. Her newly combed ashen locks sway lightly by the breeze seeps in through a window and reflecting moonlight beautifully.

Geralt hook her waist and swaying them around to the faint tunes from downstairs. Geralt spun her around and Ciri guided his calloused hands to her firm breasts, let him kneading them the way she likes.

“I bet you like this, you horny witcher.” Ciri hisses at him and exposing her neck to his teeth, moaning to his sensual touches.

“Are you?” Geralt growls to her skin after they have fallen into bed again with Ciri writhing under him.

“I couldn’t think of anything better, my dear Geralt.” Ciri whispers to him and Geralt grunts loudly, nearly tore her gown off as he ravishes her all night long.

…

… {Lost.} …

“How about this one?” Yennefer inquired again and Ciri gives her mama an eye-roll as always.

They have been here only for three days but Yennefer has herding her around Gors Velen for any tailors she knows and if Ciri could have guessed; this maroon deep-neckline that reached above her navel, rimmed with golden-threads in an elven style and exposing her left shoulder must be a hundredth that she’d tried.

Ciri spinning around in front of a mirror with a lady’s grace rather than a boyish swirl that Yennefer has scolded her since the first dress. The sorceress hums in satisfaction as the fabric and style suited the ashen-haired girl perfectly; hugging her lean and mild-muscular frame at every nooks and curve and displaying them for others to see in a decent amount.

Ciri seems to be annoyed beyond belief as she fidgeting at the dress uncomfortably, trying to covering her exposed skins.

Yennefer stands up from the cushion and approaches the girl, taking her covering hands off her side and lift her chin up, spun her around to face the full-body mirror.

“Look at her, Cirilla. Isn’t she the most beautiful woman in the world?” Yennefer inquired and encouragingly caressing Ciri’s back.

“Don’t make me laugh, I’m not nearly as beautiful as you or lady Margarita.” Ciri pouting but Yennefer chides her and urged again.

“Cirilla, this,” Yennefer indicates her hand over her body “it’s not real, it’s magic. You were born with these.” Yennefer gesturing at every features Ciri has and positioning her slump form to get a stronger poise “Be proud of yourself, my daughter. You are beautiful so shows them, stood proud and do not be ashamed.” Yennefer puts her hands on Ciri’s shoulders and smiles reassuringly at the way Ciri starts to gain confidence.

Ciri straightens her back and readjusts her posture, lifting her chin and puff out her chest then really look at her reflection; her ashen-locks splayed behind her body and curls for a little to frame her face, light-red lipstick on her lips contrast with her ivory skins, her emerald eyes framed by black eyeliner that making them shine brighter than normal.

She’s still felt exposed without pants and leather straps and a sword on her back, but this Ciri sure looked like a different person, one that can get anything out of anyone just by looking in their eyes.

“I’ll take this one.” Ciri finally said to the sorceress and Yennefer hums with appreciation then raised another dress up.

“Our tradition demand that a lady must have spares. Try this one.” The sorceress smirk at the way Ciri’s groaning with defeat.

…

His right arm might as well been tear off.

Geralt staggered away from the werewolf as its claws trying to lop his head off, deep gashes lining his right forearm and rendered said limb useless due to damaged muscles and injured tendons.

The werewolf revealed itself to be none other than the hunter that accompanied him to get rid of the beast terrorizes and killed many domestics and some villagers, as soon as their stakeout prolonged to midnight and a full-moon shines light onto the man’s skin Geralt have to sacrificed his strong arm to survive, at least until he can drink White Raffard’s Decoction; a stronger and better Swallow that also much more toxic.

Geralt quickly rolled out of the way and stuck his silver into the ground, grabbing the handle with his left hand. The witcher aligned his silver on his right shoulder, changing tactics to strikes in a shorter range due to his injured arm. Curse those sharp claws that sliced through his arm-guard easily.

He got lucky as the next swipe of the werewolf opened a window for him, Geralt aimed and thrusts his silver at the beast’s abdomen, punctured into its diaphragms from the side and with his whole body acted as a pivotal point he twists his blade and crushed the organ.

The werewolf howls in pain and Geralt dodged its claws in time, using his movement to professionally dislodged the silver blade and pirouette around to forcefully slashing at the back of the beast then flips his sword, jumped off the ground and quickly shoot Aard to sent the werewolf forward and himself backward.

Geralt quickly searching for the vial and when he found it quickly uncork to swallowed the liquid down. Geralt grunts painfully as the scorching potion makes its way down to his stomach and spread out through his vascular system. The witcher tore the tattered guard off of his healing arm and saw the torn muscles and tendons knitting themselves back together.

The werewolf roars and without a moment wasted, launched itself at the witcher with fangs and claws extended. Geralt gritted his teeth and shifted the silver sword back to his right hand, reversing it to a backward grip then sidestepping at the last possible moment before the claws of the werewolf severe his jugular to kicked himself up using a nearby boulder then stabs the blade deep into the beast’s heart.

The werewolf gave a final pained howl and collapsing down to the ground, writhing around wildly as the silver starts killing its cells around the wound, slowly turning it back to the human form.

Geralt breathing in and out heavily at the side, flexing his newly healed arm and looking at the new souvenir to add into his collection; three long-gashes from his wrist to his elbow. The toxicity from the decoction made his vision blurry and his head spinning, then Geralt hunched over and thrown up.

…

“Here’s your beast.” Geralt grunts and throw the hunter’s head at the feet of the alderman.

“What the fuck is this?! This is Herbert!” The alderman shouts out in horror and full with murderous intent directed at the witcher.

“He’s a werewolf. Don’t believe me?” Geralt quirk a brow at the villagers surrounded him and knelt to place his silver dagger on the head, it sizzles immediately and left a scorched mark in the shape of the dagger on the severed head’s forehead. The crowd hisses and whimpered in terror.

Geralt got his payment as agreed; a pouch full of rough gems from the alderman and ride off from the miners’ village.

…

Yennefer walked with Ciri at her side, perusing about at many stalls scattered across the main square. The sorceress and Ciri ended up purchased four dresses each that the sorceress has sent away to the tavern via a portal.

Ciri skipping around with no make-up after the testing and now clads in her usual outfit that doesn’t have armor on but still keeping the knife Geralt gave her as a sidearm.

“Can’t we just go and enjoy our free-time somewhere else, mama?” Ciri said hopefully and blinks innocently at Yennefer, the sorceress snorts and continues.

Yennefer led the younger and taller girl along the cobblestone pathway and then reaching for the handle of the door to Yusuf’s Jewelry. The interior seems foreign to Ciri as she’d never seen Ofiri’s arts and decorations before, many shining gems and crafts adorned the luscious stands and shelves but what caught her eyes have to be a set of body armor on the wall.

It was strange-looking due to the different craftsmanship of the East and Ofir; mostly consists of cured leather of their native species, light, fully-mobile, covered on top with silver and gold plates that were aligned in a way that they wouldn’t interrupt acrobatic moves of her fighting style and the beauty of the engraving was on par with Cintran royal collection of elven armors.

Yennefer calls for her and Ciri stares at the set for a few more seconds.

“Yusuf, this is Cirilla. She needs pieces of suiting jewelry for a banquet and I want it to outshine everyone’s there.” Yennefer proudly presenting Ciri to the lapidary-merchant with brown skins and eyes sharper than a sword, beard kempt in a neat fashion and adorned himself with exotic pieces of jewelry from head to toe, making himself looked like a walking and breathing art.

The man bowed and taking her hand then bring it to his lips, a light kiss of greeting then straightens himself up “The world and its never-ending creation be praises, lady Cirilla.” Ciri blushed a little at the charming man.

“Banquet jewelry, huh? It’s your usual gathering then, is it not?” Yusuf inquired and Yennefer nods.

“I have references for you to gazes upon, do not worry,” the sorceress said as Yusuf seems to lost in his thoughts, projecting floating images of the dresses they’ve bought hours ago “I want, nay, I DEMAND that each piece of yours exquisite crafts levitates her prowess to the max.” Yennefer said in commanding and intimidating tone she often used in court.

“Mama! I don’t need eyes on me!” Ciri protests but Yennefer is having none of it.

“You will be the most stunning in there, my ugly one, could even outshine Rita if you wanted to.” Yennefer said with confidence and pushing the girl lightly on the back towards the center of the shop.

Yusuf inspecting her around, walking slowly in a circle as he taking in all the distinct features and unique aspects the ashen-haired girl possessed.

“You’ve quite a difficult task for me, lady Yennefer,” Ciri’s face fell at the words, hunching into herself at the embarrassment she’d felt by her own look, before Yusuf’s next sentence made her snaps up with surprise and swelled with glee “see as this young lady is quite a rare and exceptional beauty. Those bones structure is a perfect combination between the North and the South, I shall craft new sets for her especially to reach your demand. I need only two days and your daughter will be the diamond amongst crystals at the banquet!” Yusuf rants happily and excitedly while fumbling with a quill and parchment in his hands.

“That’s unacceptable, my dear Yusuf. Here,” Yennefer chides and produced a pouch of diamonds to the lapidary “make it a day, we shall be here tomorrow.” Yusuf nearly faints at the amount he saw.

The merchant stuttered and hurriedly bowing to the two women “I shall not rest!”

…

Ciri looking around the vast hall that adorned with tapestries, tables that covered in silks, floating fire-balls lighting the area and many mages flooding the dance floor.

The girl was in a Nazair-blue wrap dress and a set of specially crafted lapis-lazuli necklace with two platinum cufflinks and ruby earrings. Looking quite standing out among the sea of revealing-dresses from the sorceresses attending the day banquet. Some might as well coming in naked in Ciri’s opinion, such as a sorceress named Sabrina Glevissig as Yennefer introduced earlier.

Ciri is now standing and mingled with Margarita Laux-Antille, Triss Merigold and Keira Metz while Yennefer had took off minutes ago with Tissaia De Vries.

“How is Temeria, Triss? Think Foltest will join forces with King Vizimir of Redania to fight the black ones?” Margarita asks as she sips her wine, looking at the auburn-haired sorceress who clads in her signature teal dress. Keira snort at the question and chewing on a piece of turkey.

Triss hums along and looking around before replying “Foltest seems to be readying his troops since the battle of Sodden, but with the return of princess Adda from the temple, his attention was divided into two. Slowing down the process as it is.” Triss finished and sips the goblet while Keira interjected.

“Here’s hoping he will treat her as a daughter and not fuck her as he did with her mom. Incestuous cursed princess was one thing, but an offspring of one would be horrendous.” Ciri’s ears perking at that, recalling the story Geralt told her once.

“Good thing that witcher came along though, if it be any other than the famed White Wolf? It would have ended badly.” Triss said in somewhat hopeful tone that nagging at Ciri at the way the sorceress’s eyes lit up at the mention of Geralt.

“Shame I’m not there at the time, Merigold. At least I would have indulged my curiosity with him. Unlike you.” The fair-colored hair sorceress mocking her coworker and Triss is not amused.

“I’m sure you would, nympho.” Triss gritted out.

“Said the one who fucked him in her friend’s house, did Yenna forgive you yet, little Merigold?” Keira snips back.

“How did you!?” Triss squeals out in horror. Keira laughs at the reaction and Margarita just shaking her head.

“Words traveled fast around courts, Triss. It’s not good that you happened to charmed and rode a famous witcher at that.” Keira jabs and Triss was fuming.

Ciri sways around awkwardly at the conversation, feeling strange to listens about Geralt _adventures_.

Rita have a look of ridiculed directed at the two bickering sorceresses and looking at Ciri; Yennefer takes a precaution to glamour the ashen-locks into blonde as to hide her identity among prying eyes of mages.

“Fiona, I think it will be best for us to get a seat?” Rita walking to her and leading the girl away from them.

“Thank you, lady Rita. That was…awkward.” Ciri whispers and showing her gratitude towards the blonde beauty.

“Must be weird, listening to your man’s sex life like that?” Rita inquired with a smirk.

Ciri blushed a bit and nodding her head rapidly, Rita giggles and directed her to a secluded corner.

“It will be over shortly, Fiona. This is only for mages to be introduces and chatting around, the real events will be hosted after nightfall.” Rita relayed to her as the two starts eating their meals.

After a while, Ciri sees a parade coming in from the front entrance “Who’s there?” she asked the blonde sorceress.

“A queen of elves. Enid an Glenna of Dol Blathanna. She’s a member of the Conclave.” Rita whispered to her as every eyes looking at the most beautiful elf Ciri has ever seen.

“She looked so young.” Ciri whispered out.

“Last of a few pure-blooded elves left on the Continent.” Yennefer’s cold voice said from their sides.

“Yenna, how’s the chat with our dear rectoress?” Rita asks playfully and chuckles at the way Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“Don’t get me start.” Yennefer rubbing her temple and sitting down beside Ciri, sighing heavily.

…

At night Ciri walked in with Yennefer, hooking arms and strode proudly in the maroon dress that perfected by the set of elaborate pieces of jewelry Yusuf personalized for her.

Eyes are on her as soon as Ciri step through the threshold, murmurings and whisperings erupts surrounding her appearance. Ciri felt unease as she walked passed the crowd and saw some of them lingered their hungry and curious gazes, from both men and women, on her even after Yennefer has led her through.

Ciri takes part in a dance when the music started, magically echoing off the stone walls and amplified for all to hear. Her partners were young sorcerers and sorceresses, some even be newly graduated ones.

Ciri glided along the floor, alternating between men and women as they dance to the song occasionally she would get to Yennefer and Triss and then returning to dancing with strangers again. Some wooed her via jokes and intellects, Ciri played along but stops their advances beyond simple dance touches.

After one spinning round Ciri felt a familiar tug inside her soul, looking around purposefully ignored the conversation her partner tried to make and caught the sight of his golden-amber eyes across the floor.

Ciri subconsciously walking to him as if the silver thread that tied them contracting itself little by little, Geralt saw her and stunned in place.

He looked out of place with his simple black shirt and tight pants and two wrapped swords in his hand, at least he looked clean.

Some women eyed him and approached the witcher. Geralt paid them no mind as of now, his vision framed only to Ciri in a maroon dress that walking towards him; she is always beautiful but tonight she looked exceptionally stunning and gorgeous that his heart aches at the sight and his breathing uneven.

Ciri slowly walked to where he stands, taking in all of his with her eyes and felt a pang of longing batting itself inside her beating heart, the world around them slowed down as she collided into him, hugging herself to his neck, dangling her feet happily.

No words come as the witcher embraced the woman in his arms, nearly dropped his swords on the ground.

Ciri clung to him, not caring about the whispers and stares surrounding the two of them, and grab his gruff face then plant her lips on his in a deep kiss.

Geralt stroking his right hand on her back, feeling the fabric on her skin and returned the intensity.

“At last.” Ciri whispers to him when they break away from each other and she put her forehead on his, nuzzling their noses together.

“I’ve missed you.” Geralt whispered silently and peck her lips a couple of times.

…

Ciri breathing in the cool air and reveled in the warmth of Geralt’s arms that encasing her from behind.

They have retreated from the banquet to the secluded balcony overlooking the waves of sea around Thanned isle.

“So, Lyria or Novigrad?” Geralt inquired.

Ciri hum along and think for a minute, they’ve talked about possible contracts of monsters and whatnots after they’ve excused themselves from the ballroom. Geralt’s recalling of his hunts since the tavern in Aedirn excited her very much, given that she had been trapped in the ‘civilized’ town of Gors Velen for a full week already; Ciri missed the dirt, the forest and wildlife, muddy swamps and all those that associated with the life of a monster slayer. She does not detest courtship and pretty dresses however, just preferred the one she has chosen for herself more.

The ashen-haired woman trails her delicate hands along the ridges on the witcher’s arms, slouching herself backward into his warm body and says “Which will likely have more monsters than the other?” Geralt chuckles into her ears and Ciri felt shivers ran down her spine.

“Novigrad then.” Geralt said and Ciri nodding her head along.

“Where’s your gear? I even imagined that you might walked in here and clad in the armor, possibly neck-deep in a Zeugl’s guts as a bonus. Kinda disappointed me there.” Ciri’s inquiry came with a snippiness he loves so much.

“Lost it to a Manticore couple on the way here, those venoms are not to be jesting about.” Geralt replied and revels in the sensation of Ciri’s petite yet strong body pressed against his own.

“Hmm…I do want to meet them.” Ciri suggested.

Geralt snorts and sighs with resignation “We will go back the way I came from, I didn’t kill them if you still wondering.” Ciri chirps happily in his arms.

“Don’t you think it’s a waste of time, going back and forth like that?” Ciri asks him with a half-hearted concern.

“Anything for you.” Geralt planted a kiss on the nape of her neck and then continue “Besides, it would be best to rid them off from those farmers,” Geralt trails off.

“Provided that they can pay.” Ciri finished for him.

“Spoke like a true witcher.” Geralt retreated from her and Ciri felt a cool breeze graze her back, the thin silk provided protection as much as a nightgown. She turns around to face Geralt and stunned in place as she saw him presenting her a new sword, beautifully crafted one at that, in a cured basilisk’s leather.

“What…” Ciri loss her voices as she’s reaching her shaking hands towards it, coiling the weapon in both of her hands and marveled at all the details on its v-shaped guard.

“30-inches meteorite-silver blade, silver-alloy guard and pommel.” Geralt relays to her as he stood proudly in front of her “Full-tang handle wrapped in Crovenien’s basilisk’s leather.”

Ciri feels all the craftsmanship on the sword and swelled with giddy excitement, it was perfect and specially crafted to fit in a woman’s hands, her hands to be exact. The full-tang handle felt so much more secure in her grip as she swung it around in short slashes and pirouettes.

“It’s beautiful…” Ciri crooned at the blade and Geralt alternatively, her eyes gleamed with joy and gratitude.

“Like you are.” Geralt said in his soft tone and smiled at her.

Ciri sheathed the silver and jumped onto Geralt’s neck, dangling herself happily on him as the witcher spun around.

…

The girl skipping happily along the garden’s route, heading to find Yennefer in the banquet.

Ciri whispering and sweet-talking to her new sword like a madwoman all the way since she’d left Geralt’s side. The girl intends to say goodbye to the sorceress before she would leave with Geralt, to testing her new toy.

A set of footsteps catch her attention and Ciri turns her head towards the source of the sound, about to investigate when she felt a hand closing over her mouth and being pulled into a bush.

…

Geralt stood at the railing of the balcony, breathing in the salted air around him, with his steel sword in his hands.

It was probably a decade or so that he didn’t look at Renfri’s brooch. It recalled so much for him to withstand and Geralt does have more important things on his mind as of late.

The bronze trinket shines faintly due to time and how he used the sword in combats, nicks and chips here and there but the shape is still the same.

_True Evil, Geralt, is something you can barely imagine, even if you believe nothing can still surprise you.  
And sometimes True Evil seizes you by the throat and demands that you choose between it and another, slightly lesser, Evil.**_

Her dying face that has the sorrowful eyes of walnut, soft tresses of dark-auburn that grazing his fingers as he lowered her body onto the street of Blaviken and the way that some part in him shattered along with the life in her eyes that day.

Geralt solemnly tracing his fingers and fell into deep thought, until an unfamiliar presence appears beside him, one that reeks with the magic of a powerful sorcerer.

“Beautiful craft. Creyden’s style if I remembered correctly?” a tall and handsome Eastern man clad in expensive garb of the sorcerer said to the witcher, indicating at the brooch adorned the steel ricasso.

“Hmm.” Geralt did not say anything and sheathed his steel in its scabbard. The sorcerer chuckles slightly at the reaction he got.

“Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, a pleasure to finally meet you.” Vilgefortz offering his hand to Geralt but the witcher just ignored it.

Geralt quirk a brow at the mage. Recalled that he is the one that’d been introduced to him as the youngest member of the Chapter, and keep his silence.

Vilgefortz looking out at the sea, breathing the air and seems to enjoy the calm winds, then continued with his questioning “Is that the one belonged to Renfri? The one you killed and took it from in Blaviken?”

Geralt growls lowly in his throat, irritates by the mere presence of the magician even without the conversation related to his past.

“What’s it to you?” Geralt grumbled out hoarsely and intimidating, but the sorcerer merely chuckled with amusement at the intensity in Geralt’s question.

“I love stories, good ones exceptionally. And yours…” Vilgefortz said with a fake interested tone that Geralt could discern, almost too easy as if intended, and continued with his reply “…are quite interesting, thanks to that bard friend of yours.”

Geralt grunts an annoyed sound out and making a move to escape the undesired conversation with this mysterious mage, the sorcerer didn’t allow him.

“One might say that you and I were alike, Geralt of Rivia.” Vilgefortz said casually with demanding tone indicated that the witcher should heed them and stay here to converse, along with an invisible wall that Geralt collided into.

“That one might be an idiot then, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen.” Geralt growls back and tests the limits of his resistant to Vilgefortz’s wall by pushing his hands against it, the spell was stronger than the one Yennefer once cast on him back in Rinde.

“Actually, he’s a genius, ones that know what they are talking about.” Vilgefortz leaned back on the rail and facing the grumpy witcher with a smirk. The witcher snorts with disbelief and ridicule at the sorcerer but turned surprised as soon as Vilgefortz continued with “Our mothers are sorceresses, for one.”

Geralt grunts angrily and glare at the mage. Vilgefortz still keeps his smug on his handsome face and rakes his curly hair a bit.

“I was born in a gutter, well more like left in there, of Pont Vanis. Growing in a street, an arena, a whorehouse, a battlefield, and many other places.” Vilgefortz said as he relaxing at the railing while Geralt stood stiffly, ready for any surprises or ambushes that might accompany the conversation with a mage.

“There was a man named Zertseathen, he was a great fighter who could wield any weapons at the moment and still defeat his opponent on a whim, he also happened to be a rapist pedophile.” Vilgefortz has a nostalgic lilt in his voices “He raped me over and over, the curse of a pretty face, but at the same time he taught me all he knew.” Vilgefortz shortly conjured a staff in his hands, whirling it around with grace and stance that makes Geralt felt uneasiness in his bones.

“As a show of gratitude, I drugged him in his sleep. Tied him up at the town square. Beat him with his own mace then castrated and shove his cock up his own ass before lit him up on fire.” Vilgefortz finished with an exhale.

“Hmm, quite a story.” Geralt sarcastically commented. Vilgefortz chuckles at that and dematerialized his staff.

“Are there any other facts I should know about, or can you just fucking dispelled and let me go?” Geralt crossed his arms and glaring dagger at Vilgefortz with annoyance and brood.

“Oh, I have! Just another one though.” Vilgefortz clears his throat three times and Geralt heard silent footsteps that can only belong to elven guerilla; the Scoia’tael.

“And that is?” Geralt slowly drawing his steel out, estimates the numbers of elves surrounding him and the sorcerer. It’s not looking good for him, damn.

“We both knew that the Cirilla who married the Emperor of Nilfgaard is not the real one.” And soon as that dawned on the witcher, the sorcerer dropped the barrier. Geralt has to rely solely on his instinct and gritted through pain as a swarm of elves launched at him.

…

Ciri writhed violently in the bush and tried kicking and punching her assailant, she even trying to bite the suppressing hand of him. The guy yelps out and Ciri goes stiff.

“Why do you always trying to bite my hand, Ciri?” Dara said out quietly from behind her and Ciri escaped his grip.

“What the fuck did you do, kidnapping me like that?” Ciri keeps her voice down, due to footsteps passing them, but the intensity is still made it to her somewhat-elven-friend.

“You’re welcome by the way; I’ve just prevented you from being taken.” Dara growls lowly out as he pressed Ciri’s head down to hide.

“What’s happening here, Dara?” Ciri asks him after the patrols are long gone.

“The Scoia’tael sided with Nilfgaard, and they are here for you. I joined them as soon as I knew this news.” Dara said to her and Ciri skeptically look at the elf boy.

“How did they get here? This isle is exclusive to mages only.” Ciri inquired as she reluctantly tore the rim of her dress off, making it much more mobile to her taste and brandishing her new silver.

Dara looked at the sword for a while, a strange sight for sure that once the scared girl who runs the woods with him a year ago was tremendously different from the warrior woman he sees right now.

“There are mages smuggled us in since dawn. They armed with hexenbane; dimeritium weapons to slaughter the mages at the gathering tonight.” Dara draws one of his to show her the grayish alloy of the blade that emanates waves of strange feelings.

As Dara sheathed the blade a commotion starts from the direction Ciri came from, where Geralt is still there.

Ciri weight the choices in her mind; Yennefer who is at the ball and probably could not fight hordes of skilled fighters, and Geralt who are likely to be engaging with a group of Scoia’tael right now.

Ciri curses and ran, with Dara in tow.

…

Geralt’s steel is still lodged in some elf’s chest as he barehandedly grips and disarmed the elven saber from them and cut the previous owner in half.

The witcher dances around, bloody and exhausted, as he dodges and countering elves all around him, trying to keep his head intact with his body. Some shot arrows at him but Geralt was never staying in place and the arrows stick into their brethren instead of him.

He gracefully redirected a slash of one into the other one that launches from behind and beheading the other with a quick swipe.

Vilgefortz stood at a distance, he recruited elves and Stefan Skellen for reasons.

One managed to land a strike on the witcher, but as soon as the blade made contact the white-haired mutant lowered himself quickly and cutting through many knees professionally.

A shell of blue covered the witcher and Vilgefortz do not dispel it outright, intending to entertain himself a little.

…

“Fall back!” Yennefer shouts at the frontline of guards that shielded them from a horde of Scoia’tael. Francesca Findabair was gone since the dancing has ended, mysteriously at the time but now she knew why and left a gift in form of her subjects to kill all of the mages that refused to side with the Whiteflame.

“ ** _Aenye_**!” Keira and Triss shout at the same time as the two channelings a gush of fire.

“Yenna! We must go!” Rita yelled to her from where she’s fighting off the group sneaking in from behind their defenses.

“Tissaia! Any progress?!” Yennefer directed her booming inquiry at the rectoress, who is at the center and channeling Chaos from around herself.

“Almost!” De Vries replied in a guttural grunt as pain shot through her, many sorceresses stands beside her and helping with the defensive barrier.

“Yenna!” Rita cried out as one of the Scoia’tael evaded her spell and now is too close for her to stop him.

But he was cut in half by the girl that moves as swift as a viper, killing elves in front of Rita one by one in two or three strikes at most.

“Ciri! Thank the gods!” Yennefer has a relief washed over her at the sight of ashen locks in the torn expensive silky dress.

“Why are you all still here?!” Ciri shouts as she countering strikes from one elf.

“The palace diminished our abilities.” Rita offered and helped Ciri fight off the pressing wave with fireballs and lightning.

Ciri takes Rita’s elbow and herds the blonde sorceress towards Tissaia.

“How long do you need?” Ciri grunts out.

“A bit longer.” The Rectoress answered her and Ciri chuckles with grim determination.

…

“The little cunt might be in there.” Bonhart said to Skellen as they observing the massacre inside the hall.

“There are still mages around her, especially that Yennefer.” Skellen offered and Bonhart growls annoyingly.

“Why can’t we killed her and be done with it?” Bonhart said out with irritation and unlatched his hidden stiletto to waving it around.

“Because we are hired to bring her in alive, not a corpse to be autopsied.” Skellen answered with a matter of fact tone.

“All these nonsenses because an old dog wants to fuck a girl?” Bonhart asks while tying his descends rope around himself, as Skellen do the same.

“He can start a war out of boredom for all I care, Bonhart. We got a specific requirement and you must keep it.” Skellen spit back with irritation and begin descending down as soon as a burst of magic came from the hall.

…

All humans and elves around them fallen into a deep slumber as Tissaia released her spell, and then the rectoress collapse.

“We better go now.” Rita said and she took Tissaia with her through a portal.

Triss and Keira also teleported away when the others are gone.

Yennefer regain her breathing and approach Ciri, whose got blood splattered across her pretty face and ruined makeup and a shaking sword in her hands. The sorceress took the girl’s arm and run away from the hall, towards Tor Lara.

“Mama…” Ciri croaked out after they got to the middle of the long bridge.

Yennefer slowed down but keep tugging the shocked girl with her, brought her dress up to cleaning Ciri’s face. And cooing her softly “It’s alright, it’s over now, my daughter. Come, we must get to the tower and leave this wretched place.”

Ciri still has a shock in her, monsters that terrorize villagers and ate children were one thing, but sentient beings that not so much different from herself in thoughts, and emotions? She’s having trouble dealing with that as of now.

“Listen closely, Cirilla.” Yennefer slaps her duckling’s face firmly to pulling the shocked girl out of her trance, Ciri looking at the sorceress with teary eyes and trembling lips that rendered the Ice queen of Vengerberg’s heart to pieces.

“I…I have never…” Ciri whimpers and stutters to form a proper sentence.

“I said listen.” Yennefer tugging her along and Ciri reluctantly obliged “It was killed or be killed, it’s about survival. You did not start this fight with them, my little one, you were just protecting yourself and us. Do not berate or ashamed yourself to such thing, you are better than that, you are a powerful woman. So, act like one.” Yennefer’s stern voice awoke Ciri from her spiraling and the girl squeezing the sorceress’s hand back, then they start running.

As Yennefer absorbing the energy from Tor Lara, Ciri fidgeting herself around, looking back at the way they’d ran through for any sign of Geralt.

“Mama, I need to get Geralt.” Ciri said to the sorceress and Yennefer grunts in return.

“We must go now, Ciri, Geralt will be fine. That witcher knows better than to stay and fight with hordes of elves.” Yennefer gritted out as she reorganizing her inner Chaos and conjuring a portal in front of them.

“Now—” the sentence was cut short by Ciri shoving the sorceress out of the way and into the portal.

The ashen-haired girl cried out in anguish pain when a gash appears on her left cheek by a throwing weapon that originally aimed at the back of Yennefer’s skull. The portal closed as Ciri knelt to the ground of the tower, hissing and whimpering in pain.

Two mercenaries appeared in her peripheral vision that clouded by tears.

“Almost got her, damnit.” Skellen grumbled in annoyance and taking another Orion out of his pouch, playing it around his index finger.

“At least we still got this one.” Bonhart stood in place and set his emotionless eyes on the crouching girl.

“Cuff the bitch and let’s go.” Skellen tossed a pair of handcuffs at Bonhart.

The bounty hunter almost reached the whimpering girl but a white-haired witcher appears out of thin air, literally, and has to use the chain to deflect the blow.

Skellen ready his Orion but yelps out in pain as Dara’s arrow meets his Achilles' tendon.

Geralt is limping visibly as his left leg and knee were in unnatural angle, but the potion he took suppressed his nerves so that he can still fight.

Ciri looked up at him and a spark of hope burns inside her, gathering her sword up and supporting his left side, brandished her sword towards Bonhart. And her heart faltered when she addressing Geralt’s injuries; his left arm was broken along with cuts and bruises adorned his face, his left femur snapped in half, his kneecap and ankle has been broken.

“Get the fuck off her, You bastard.” Geralt’s each word came out difficultly and with ragged breathing. His once warm ambers turned black in one and swollen at the other. Ciri wants to broke down in tears at the sight of him trying to protect her even he himself couldn’t stand.

Bonhart laughing maniacally and seems annoyed by the sight more than anything.

“Pathetic. You couldn’t even fight a toddler in that state, mutt.” Bonhart spits at their feet and Geralt growls out, trying to launch at him.

“Ciri, run!” Skellen was out cold by the anesthesia Dara dipped his arrows into, and fire a shot towards Bonhart. The bounty hunter gracefully sidestepped and dodged the arrow easily, meanwhile aiming his blade at Dara’s throat.

Ciri screams out of her lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait.  
> Enjoy.  
> :)


	6. New Region introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a picture for reference in the next storyline.

_**Map of Zerrikania by Niklaus of Brugge(OC)** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestion?


	7. A Week Aparted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The event on Thanned Isle resulted in the separation of the two.  
> The realm of Zerrikania held so many wonders for the two northerners, alongside numbers of dangerous monsters as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Zerrikania's many elements on Arabian and Ancient Egyptian cultures.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**A Week Aparted.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

… {Ones Linked by Destiny} …

Ciri’s vision came back as she notices the chilled air and bed of sands she was lying on. The girl felt dizzy and wanted to throw-up.

She can see nothing but sands all around her in every direction. Her tattered dress provides no protection against anything and Ciri desperately looking around for her silver.

She winces occasionally as her squinting action tugged the wound on her left cheek that is now covered in sands, sands...and sands. The girl finally found it half-buried not much further away from herself, its pommel reflecting the moonlight.

Ciri hugging it as to anchoring herself to some sort of familiarity, looking around with dread and despair as she’s starting to recalls the tale about such scenery; The Great Korath desert of the mysterious land of Zerrikania, a land beyond the mountains.

Ciri has tears streaking down her face from the searing pain of her fresh-wound and a sense of loss quelled inside because after walking around in a circle for an hour, she saw no trace of her injured witcher.

“Geralt! Geralt!!” She yelled out between whimpers and cries for him as she aimlessly wandered through the vast ocean of sands, shaking heavily due to blood-loss and the cold at night.

Oh, and she tried using her teleportation.

It’s achieved nothing as she couldn’t feel any drop of magic left inside her.

“Geral…t…” Ciri starts sobbing and stops in her track, break down and sitting there, wailing to the eerily silences.

“Fuck!” Ciri yelps in pain as she has been stung by a scorpion, which is the size of a rat. The girl cut it to pieces due to instinct and her unstable emotions and collapsed soon after, hyperventilate as -the venom starting to take an effect on her trachea’s muscle spasms.

Tears welled up in her eyes making the moon above her looked blurry and Ciri slowly losing her consciousness as her throat closing in continuously and cutting oxygen from circulating to her brain.

“Girl! Are you alright!? Hey! Come here and bring me the antidote for Sand king’s venom!” a woman shouts violently as she inspecting Ciri.

The strange lilt of southern common pricked her ears but Ciri couldn’t dwell on that too long as she passed out.

…

Geralt emptied his stomach as soon as he reached the shore, difficultly as only two of his four limbs are still functional.

The witcher supporting himself using the steel and limping to the nearest boulder, slotted his broken leg in between two boulders, locked it in firmly and without wasting more time before the effect of the potion gave out; snaps his bent leg back into places.

Geralt gritted his teeth hard to fight the tremendous pain he felt, crawling on the top of the boulder and uses his steel sword and a makeshift splinter, it took more time than usual due to he only has one hand functioned.

Time passed by as Geralt let his mutation healed his injuries a bit, he’s still needing medical treatment though because the amount and level of them require the consumption of elixir and a couple of special herbs. He also sat there and waiting for Ciri to burst out from under the water or for her drowned body to float up. Neither happened after he felt he could walk a bit easier.

“Damn… don't know to be relieved or worried.” Geralt grunts as he slowly limping towards the source of noises. The witcher emerged and see foreign buildings; strange in cultural differentials and style, more colorful and fit for a much warmer climate. Few people dressed in colors walking the street and doing their things without noticing him.

The witcher limped along the street and gain some attention as the people around him observing the beaten and battered white-haired man with a strange set of eyes passing them by. Conversations around him are utterly gibberish, sounded similar to the one he overheard Téa and Véa used back in those days.

Some of them even approached and asked him something that the witcher couldn’t understand for the life of him. Geralt uses the best hands gesture at best as he could think of and asking for help.

“I. Need. A doctor.” Geralt pointing at his injuries and tries to get the woman who asked questions frantically at him the meaning of his request “Or. A healer. Did you. Have one?” Geralt said slowly but the woman in front of him don’t seem to understand.

At that Geralt felt something sticking out of his back, on his right side and after reaching a hand behind he was met with a handle of the stiletto.

Geralt curses as he stumbled into a man, pains and aches starting to dawn on him as soon as his metabolism has burnt all the potion off.

Geralt loss his voices and his breathing whenever he moves even a little, Vilgefortz left marks and bruises on him quite nicely.

Then it was like a hallucination plays with his mind as he heard faint calling of his name from afar, in Ciri’s despaired voices no less, and looking around wildly with blurry vision for the heart and soul of him but finding no such familiar sight.

Except for one redhead he does remember, she's still looked the same since he’d met her back in Temeria from the Striga’s wound on his neck. Her garb looks more breathable than the one she wore in the middle of winter at Foltest’s infirmary chamber. Her strawberry-blonde hair kempt inside a gatherer scarf of native’s fashion that strangely went well with her usual druid’s outfit and her fair complexion; one that he inherited from through genetics.

“You?” Geralt croaked out and fainted from the poison in his system, both from Bonhart’s and his own.

“Geralt?!” Visenna screams out as her son’s body collided into the pavement before her eyes.

…

“Geralt…” the girl slurred out from her cot and that’s made the black-haired woman dropped her task.

“Hey, gray girl? Can you hear me?” the voices came out quietly and with concerns, patting the good cheek of the ashen-haired one lightly to as to awake her.

“Geralt…?” The same name came out like a spell or something as the ashen one’s face contorted with anguish and contempt.

“Gray girl, there’s no Geralt here. Hey, wake up!” the black-haired slightly increases the force of her patting.

Ciri shot up and looking around frantically, then settled onto the hazel orbs looking directly into her emerald ones. Scooting herself backward and noticed that now she’s buck-ass naked under the thin blanket.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, Scarface.” The black-haired woman coaxed as Ciri found a weapon and pointing the tip at her throat, with practiced and experienced hands, she might add.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” Ciri growled out hoarsely from her dried throat that is still throbbing mildly from the venom she received earlier.

“Burned. They were ruined beyond salvage, I was cleaning you before redressing you in some of mine. Thought it would be better than walking around naked.” The southern-lilted woman speaks in perfect common, indicated her origin was from the Continent and not Zerrikania natives.

Ciri skeptically looking at the pretty face in front of her and strangely saw some distinct similarity to her late father. And her eyes caught the sight of her silver propped against the pole of the tent.

As the girl lowered the spear, the black-haired woman exhales through her mouth in relief. And ruffled her trunk for a minute, then showing a pack of clean clothes to the ashen one.

“Here, shouldn't be too loose.” Ciri quickly snatches the package and hurriedly dressing.

“Name’s Rhenawedd by the way.” The black-haired woman greets from her spot.

“Where am I?” Ciri asks as she finished tying the lace of Rhenawedd’s linen white shirt and sitting comfortably on the stool opposite the woman.

“The Korath desert of Zerrikania, specifically you are on the ruin of the once-beautiful Tower of Korath.” Rhenawedd explained and spread her arms around.

“Zerrikania? How the hell?” Ciri grunts silently and feels numb on her left cheek, reaching her fingers and tried to touch the wound but Rhenawedd was faster as the woman swatted her hand away.

“Ah, ah! Not do that if I were you, green-eyes, the anti-septic ointment I applied on you doesn’t do well with dirty fingers. Best not disturb the wound.” Rhenawedd chided her.

Ciri solemnly sighs and leaning her back on the mattress, breathing heavily “Thank you, for saving me.” Ciri said with sincerity.

“Not a problem, you going to repay me someday, grey hair.” Rhenawedd winked at her and directing Ciri to get some rest, the exhaustion from both the teleportation and a scorpion’s sting made Ciri goes into a deep slumber quick.

…

Visenna busied herself with preparing the herbs and bandages as she heard the witcher’s groan.

Not even looking back at his rising form she chides “Lie down, witcher, or you’re going to worsen your injuries.”

Geralt snorts at the but obliged, laying his head back down on the stiff pillow “As if you care, witch.” His words lace venom.

“A druid, in case you’ve forgotten.” Visenna bites back and heard a dark chuckle came from her son’s position.

“A witch is more fitting. Visenna.” even her name has been said with intense disdain. Visenna has to brace herself and prevent her hands from shaking at the crack forming in her heart.

Visenna breathing in and out, calming her inner turmoil down and brings everything to Geralt’s side. The witcher’s eyes never wavered from the sorceress’s approaching form.

“I’ve removed the dirk and treated the wounds, your broken bones already healing themselves, but this should speed things up.” Visenna handed him a bundle of herbs.

“You sure you’re not trying to poison me with these?” Geralt took the offered and inspecting them, seeing no dangerous or poisonous plants in the combination and heard Visenna sighs exaggeratedly.

“If that’s the case why must I exert myself and wasted my supplies to save you life then?” Visenna asked with irritation laced within her calm and soft voices. Geralt’s intense glare never leave her eyes, making the healer uncomfortably shifting herself.

“Oh, I don’t know. Finish what you started, maybe? You expected me to die when you left me at the gate of the keep, right? But as you can see, HERE I AM!” His eyes turned ferocious and darkly grin plastered his lips, snarling at his mother like a rabid dog “So why don’t just fucking kill me and be done with it?!” his hoarse and deep baritone somehow amplified the anger in his words.

“Geralt—” Visenna tried but Geralt grabs her neck and applied pressure.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Visenna, That’s the name Vesemir gave me.” the witcher’s grip tightening and Visenna clawed at her son, desperately trying to pry her neck out of his vise grip, but yielded no result.

Visenna has tears welled up in her eyes and croaked out a please but the witcher’s grip only tightening around her neck that starting to get bruises. Until another set of hands violently pried it out and locking the witcher’s neck in their arms, depriving him of air. Geralt was so surprised that he didn’t have time to prepare and quickly goes into a slumber, but not before he heard what came out of Visenna's mouth silently and solemnly “It wasn’t Vesemir.”

…

Geralt slurry waking up and saw Visenna hovered over him, tending and wrapping his broken arm into a splinter and braces.

“Just give me ingredients and go, I know you don’t want to be near me.” Geralt said out emotionlessly and inspecting himself. Visenna staggered a bit but continue her wrap in a heartbeat.

“I have my moral, Geralt. I wouldn’t leave my patient untreated.” Visenna replied.

“But you seem to have no problem leaving a child out in the middle of winter, haven’t you?” his bites seared into her heart and Visenna almost tear up, again.

They stared at each other intensely; Visenna’s as she demands silence from her son and Geralt with determination he’d only ever shown when fighting to survive against beasts.

“I need to know why...” Geralt added with a more sorrowed and nostalgic tone, just slightly bit and nothing dramatic. Visenna sighs and tied the bandage securely.

“I told you, the answer would hurt us both.” Visenna replied in her usual tone, Geralt growls lowly, irritated and desperate for an answer to his life-long question.

“Fucking answer me. I deserve that much for unwantedly crawled out of your fuck-hole.” He hissed out as Visenna still acting with ignorance and tending to his leg next.

“What will it change? What’s the matter if you know the answer to that, Geralt?” she never looking into his eyes but the burns on her back from his wolfish stares are prominent.

Her son has been silenced for a while, then she heard him says with the uncharacteristic shaking voice of a broken man who locked up sadness, anguish, hatred, and confliction of love and scorns he felt and harbored towards her inside himself for all of his life, the kind that brings sorrows and stream of tears to her.

Geralt felt tears burning in his eyes and a lump forming in his throat altered his voices but he couldn’t care less, and says “I might finally know whether to hate you or love you…mom.” The last word sounded so strange to his ears, he’d never used it before and let alone said it with what he felt right now to the one person that is the cause of this misery life of a mutant he’d been forced to lead for decades.

She might be imagined things but the tone of his and how his voices projected, the witcher behind her could be on the verge of crying. And the last word coming from him breaks down her steely resolves.

…

At dawn, Geralt sitting on the bed overlooking the rising sun on the horizon inside the alcove Visenna tended his injuries from last night. His arm and leg are back to normal but due to inconveniences they would never be fully recovered, he’ll be slower in fights and when winter comes it might hurt like hell but the most important thing is, he’s going to live, at least until he has Ciri back in his arms again.

Visenna’s answer was very in her character; she said nothing after he let his dammed emotions and feelings exploded out. Finishing the wrapping and left soon after.

He still has conflicted feelings for her, love that mingled with hatred; she might be the one that left him at Kaer Morhen since he was but a month-old yet still she’s the lost piece of a puzzle that no matter how hard he tried to reach for it, it is too far away.

“Bullshit.” Geralt grunts out silently when he gave up on figuring out his mother and gathering his shirt, dressed and walking out the door with his steel in hand; blessed to Vesemir’s beard that he doesn’t have the scabbard.

When one reduced into broke and hungry witcher, there’s only one way left; he looked for a contract.

…

… {Sand Wraith} …

Ciri never felt so perplexed like this.

She’s lost, hurt and now trekking across the sands under the raging sun. Rhenawedd’s clothes and the native-styled wrapping helps a bit against the hellish heat, but still, her body was more accustomed to the colder climate of the Continent.

The ashen-haired girl walking and walking followed the route that their caravan of traders uses in traveling, sweats soaked her entire frame but Ciri gritted her teeth and keep on walking, occasionally drinking from the horn and intended to imitate the natives that surrounded her.

Rhenawedd is in charge of the caravan’s security details, she and her warrior-women walked in a formation and always be vigilant. Ciri looking at those warriors with interests at their postures, their armors and weapons that gave off the aura of intimidation.

The armor consisted of leather and monsters’ carapaces that strong and light akin to what witchers preferred to wear but have much more mobility and more breathable solely due to their environment. The clothes weaved from linen, like the one she wore now, and it makes her sweats dried up faster and not weighing herself down from soaked fabrics.

She walked beside a strange-looking mount that Rhenawedd called ‘camel’. They can carry the weight twice that of horses' and born to traverse the desert plain, some traders, mostly women, who can speak a little common told her that they can stores waters inside their special stomach to last weeks without any sight in proximity.

Ciri mused that Geralt might have named one Roach too, if he ever has one, or that if he is still alive somewhere at all. The thought killed her wondrous mood and rendered the rest of the trek miserable and torturous.

…

At night she covered herself in a blanket and huddled among traders around the fire, listening to them sharing stories and tales in Zerrikanian tongue that means nothing to her ears, fortunately enough that Rhenawedd translated some of them to her, for that the black-haired woman lived among them.

“They tell a story of the creator and protector of the land, the Golden Dragon Zerrikanterment.” Rhenawedd relayed to her and listening in closely to the next sentence “Legend says he was the one that turned the giant forest into the Korath desert, isolated these East folk from the rest of the Continent.” The black-haired woman sees that the ashen one listened and paid full attention to the story.

“They said that after the whole forest was scorched to ashes by his divine flame, he retreated to his mythical lair on the highest peak up north, where the Great Lake has been located, the one that is the source of all rivers and lakes and they called it _Zerrikanterment’s Kindness_ for that after he gave them protection, he’d given them water.” Rhenawedd told and waiting for the next part, then continue after one of the merchants finished “Their ancestors and ancestral cultures revolve around the dragons and their holy immortal flames. The priestesses will pray every morning to the wonders and goodness the dragon’s flame inside their temples brings to their homes and peoples, queens and chieftains will sit below statues of dragon-likeness or actual fossils of their gods, merchants and traders will keep a trinket or a scale of dragon within themselves for luck and protection, and the warriors would tattooed dragons and such on their skins to channeling the might of the fire-drakes with them into battles.”

Ciri listened with piqued curiosity and wonderment at the tales about Zerrikanians and their culture that she’d never heard of before, even with such education a princess like her have been received since childhood. Looking at the colorful group around her, chatting and debating, eating and drinking vividly around a bonfire. One thing that is nagging her brain now was that almost all of the caravan are women, with a couple of men as their labors.

Rhenawedd is drinking the strong spiced-mead from the jug as she felt Ciri tugging her shirt. The black-haired woman turns her head toward the emerald-eyes girl at her side, quirked an eyebrow as a form of questioning.

“Why there are only women traders?” Ciri asked innocently.

Rhenawedd chuckles a little, wiped her lips and cleared her throat, then replying with “Zerrikania ruled by women. The men only worked in lower classes and unimportant roles in society. Women lead villages as chieftains, trading as merchants, lead peoples as priestesses, commandeer as generals and commanders or ruling kingdoms and regions as queens and empresses.”

The information made the girl nods in understanding and observing the scene around herself with newfound knowledge.

“Can you teach me their dialect? I want to speak with them and learn about their realm more.” Ciri inquired with a sincere smile and determination burning inside her greenish irises. Rhenawedd looking at the girl for a moment to considers the request and nodding her head firmly.

Ciri learned simple words and can communicate with traders on herself to some level, impressed both the natives and Rhenawedd at the speed in which the ashen-haired girl slotting herself in their circle. The moon shines brightly above their heads as they talked and told tales with boozes and laughs from Ciri’s incorrect verses in the conversations.

Rhenawedd and Ciri sleep in the same tent, resting and bracing themselves for the next morning. Unfortunately for the Swallow as her long-forgotten nightmares decides that it's high time for coming back to her like an old friend.

…

“How the fuck am I going to talk with someone?” Geralt grunt under his breath as he scratching his scalp annoyingly as he attempts to use his poor Zerrikan to find a contract.

The only sentence that he can properly say with confidence might bring him more trouble than profit as he recalled the meaning of which Yennefer has told him once.

The witcher changed his approach as he showing his mutated eyes to them, pointing and acting his intention to each one with much enthusiasm as a performer of a play; he once has to get in their circus for a contract back in Novigrad, he found out that he is a natural at this for unknown reasons.

Eventually, one of them gets the meaning and providing him a parchment and a pouch of coin. Cursed be that the parchment is written in Zerrikan dialect but bless them that they are such artists for etching the likeness of the monster and rough map of sightings for him, and the amount of reward that must rival the payment in Kovir.

Geralt nods to the woman and walked away, Zerrikanians are not so familiar with witchers as their warriors and hunters were capable enough for such task of killing monsters. Geralt heading for the nearest shop in the hope to get some gears and supplies for his journey to finding Cirilla, wherever she might be.

The white-haired witcher emerged from the shop with much-lighter pouch and hefts gears and supplies on his right shoulder, for his left is still sore and numb from Vilgefortz’s magically-enhanced staff.

He walking with heavy load towards the village’s border and found a stable there, the owner was a woman with short hair and blue eyes, her brownish skin was smooth and adorned with gleaming sweat from her work, dressed in the usual garb of Zerrikanian’s citizen.

Geralt dropped his belongings down along with his hope of communication as he deft to just pointing and manipulating his eyebrows to get the point. He pointed at himself and one of the mounts in the pen, exaggeratedly imitating a riding pose and nudging his head out to the road. The owner looked at him with confusion and burst out laughing as Geralt finished his performance and about to start again, stopping him.

“Stop, stop. I can speak common, **_Vatt’ghern_**.” The woman said with giggling laughs and wiping a prickle of tears from her eyes. Geralt perplexed but chuckling alongside her melodic laugh, embarrassment forming inside him.

“Didn’t know that your kind working this far.” The owner continued and finished watering her domestics, cleaning herself uncaringly and accidentally reveal her curves to the witcher when she stretching. Geralt gulping down and chided himself, cursed high-libido of witchers and now he got tighter pants.

“It was unintentional, believe me. I was looking for mount to complete a contract, will you be able to sell one to me?” Geralt clears his throat and looking intensely at the animal inside her pen and not her clutching garb that showcasing her decent bosoms.

“You have enough dinars to buy one?” the owner inquires and Geralt showed her the pouch.

“How much for a healthy and strong…” Geralt trailed as he couldn’t recall what the beast has been called.

“A camel? 100 dinars.” The woman replied and eyeing the witcher’s belongings, and excessively at the man himself “Would you be needing anything more? A saddle perhaps?” she asked.

Geralt nodding his head slowly as he inspecting the rack of saddles at her pen’s side.

“130 then.”

…

Ciri exhaled in joy as she finished gulping down the freshwater in a pond among the first oasis, as Rhenawedd called it, they’ve come across after a long trek since morn.

“Might as well bathing a bit, girl. We might not find another from here to the nearest trading post. That trip usually took two days on a camel and three on foot with a small company.” Rhenawedd told her as she’s stripping her leather out and stretching.

Ciri marveled the master’s sculpt statue that is Rhenawedd, her toned body was not as muscled as hers but she has more pronounced curves and a little bit bigger breasts. Ciri snaps her eyes off with embarrassment as soon as she saw Rhenawedd’s smug face turned to her.

“Like what you see?” the woman showing her body proudly at the blushing girl and chuckles with amusement.

“I’m sorry for staring.” Ciri mewled out as she felt Rhenawedd’s presence so close to her.

“You like them?” Rhenawedd tone quieted down as she whispering into Ciri’s ears, making the younger girl blushes heavily.

“Y…Yes.” Ciri finds herself at odd to the answer herself has giving out.

“Hmm…tell me one thing, Ciri.” Rhenawedd required and lifts her chin, forcing Ciri to look at the beautiful black-haired one.

“Did you ever have sex? Like real sex, not just fingering and stuff like that?” the bluntness knocked the wind out of Ciri as she stuttering endearingly in front of Rhenawedd. The black-haired smirked and spreading her grin widely at the reaction.

“Why did you ask?!” Ciri squeaks out adorably and looking around frantically. Rhenawedd shrugged and replied.

“Just want to know, so I ask.”

Ciri fidgeting for a while and recomposed herself. Straightened her back and looking straight at the curious woman.

“Well?” Rhenawedd inquired again.

“Yes, I have.” Ciri answered and trying to keep her voice steady, not shaking with embarrassment, when she continues with “Many times.”

Rhenawedd purses her lips and nods her head impressively at the girl “And pray tell, which man is lucky enough to bite this delicious apple?” Rhenawedd indicates at Ciri from head to toe.

“He’s not a human.” Ciri said out and sees a confused Rhenawedd looking at her, waiting for elaboration.

“He’s a witcher.” Ciri clarifies things and Rhenawedd has the widest eyes she has ever seen.

“You must be desperate, girl, for jumping a witcher’s bone.” Rhenawedd snorts out and stripped down to only her shirt, grab a bucket and scooped up the water and using a soaked-rag to cleaning herself away from the shore. Ciri following her demonstration and standing beside the black-haired woman.

“Why?” Ciri inquired after she had stripped to her shirt and using a rag, doing things the same as Rhenawedd.

Rhenawedd looked at Ciri’s dampened face ridiculously before giving her the answer “Witchers don’t feel, Ciri, and they go away as soon as they finished using and fucking you. You should get a real boy.” Rhenawedd heard a snort of disbelief and ridicule shot back at her when she’s washing her face.

“That’s just bullshit, I lived with them at Kaer Morhen. They feel and act like us, they’re just stronger, run faster and outlived many generations of humans.” Ciri explained to the black-haired woman.

“Lived with them? How come?” Rhenawedd inquired.

“A witcher claimed me by Law of Surprise, he found me after a decade of not even showing his face and took me to their home, trained me and made me one of them.” Ciri said casually as if it a normal circumstance one might encounter in life.

“Wait, you’re a Child Surprise?”

“My father unknowingly promised me to him after the witcher saved his life at my mother’s wedding.” Ciri shrugged.

“Quite a fate you two have.”

“Yeah…”

“He’s that one?”

“Yep. My first and probably last.” Ciri grin at her with sadness mixed with love.

Rhenawedd have something dawned on her and exclaims excitingly “Zerrikanterment’s fang! You are in love with a witcher!”

Ciri only looking back with ‘so?’ expression and shrugged, continuing her ‘bathing’ session until Rhenawedd’s question comes again.

“Who is he?”

Ciri finished with her hair and tying them up by a pin, looking at a curious Rhenawedd beside her, then “His name is Geralt.” And the girl fell silenced as soon as the name dropped from her mouth, her body language and expression telling all about her longing and sadness of been separated from her loved one.

Rhenawedd recognized the look from back when she had spying her ex-lover that has been looking for her ever since she left him; the higher vampire of Nazair.

…

Geralt has been tracking the beast’s trails for hours, they led him into a valley of an oasis.

Geralt’s understanding of the beast from his interrogation of the pen’s owner is giving him some heads up about how this beast acts and behaves, ‘ _a witcher could not fight, unless prepared_ ’ as Vesemir always says.

His steel is securely sheathed inside its scabbard on a makeshift strap on his back, he needs more dinars if he’s to craft a proper witcher’s armor. Looking around cautiously and listening to sounds surrounding him, hoping to dissect a breathing or a churning stomach or even a fart that would give off where the beast might be.

Geralt heard some muffled screaming from his right, through thick bushes of spiky-plant. The Witcher honed his hearing and slowly following the sound. He emerged to the small clearing with foreign botany organisms adorned the place, and a captured man dressed in worn-garb. The man saw the white-haired stranger and yelps within his gag, try to scoot away but to no avail as he’s been tied to a poll.

Geralt looks around skeptically, he had encountered such ruse before; one of elven Scoia’tael rouges tricked him and another time was in Brokilon forest of the Dryads.

Lucky for him though, trees of Zerrikania are not so tall and thinner than a pine. With his mutated eyes, Geralt can distinguish many details around him; 20 or so bandits hidden in bushes and armed to the teeth.

The Witcher sighed and drawing his sword out, cradle a hunting knife in his left hand. They cannot speak common and he couldn’t even say ‘fuck’ in Zerrikan, Geralt opted to just cautiously stepping into the bound man little by little and flexing his muscles for an attack that should be coming in any minute now.

An arrow came flying towards his neck, Geralt whirled his steel quickly to intercepts it in mid-air. Another one comes and Geralt whirling his sword around to bashing each one of them accurately. After the tenth arrow has been bashed away no more come. Then the bandits showed up.

They cursed and threatened him in Zerrikan and Geralt couldn’t help but rolled his eyes at the inconvenience, if he can speak their language this might be an interesting spit-war.

The bound man panicked wildly and looking for a way to free himself, receiving a gut punch from one of the bandits.

“They demand that you leave all of your valuables here and go away, or would you rather die fighting all of them.” A familiar voice came from behind and Geralt saw a familiar face and outfit of Véa stood beside him, saber in hands.

“Finally, someone who I can talk to.” Geralt grunt with joy and nodding his head towards the warrior-woman.

“You seem lost, witcher, I couldn’t help but watched as you standing here idly while they 'praising' you quite colorfully.” Véa’s teasing tone sounded the same and Geralt snorts at that.

…

Geralt cut the rope around the man’s wrist and walked away, not intended to wait for him to show any gratitude, following Véa out of the clearing. But the ex-captive ran after them, talking frantically with the native tongue that the Witcher couldn’t understand.

Véa side-glanced at Geralt and amused by the look of horrid and lost on the witcher’s face, due to the wild ranting of the man in front of the white-haired witcher.

“He said his name is Ali-Baba and he came here from _Kloe_ , looking for the treasure of _Kasad-Dhu_. They said that the divine hoard of a golden lake was located near _Tor Zerrikan_ , Northeast of the city of _Bhea_ ; the city where you got your camel.” Véa translated to him and Geralt seems relieved, patting the man on his shoulder reluctantly and turned around to walk away.

Ali-Baba runs after the Witcher and trying to convince him of something, Véa followed them closely. Ali-Baba circling Geralt while the White Wolf walking towards his camel casually, annoyance creeping up on his gruff and scarred-face.

“Could you tell him that I want nothing in return and fuck off already?!” Geralt burst out after an hour of constant rambling from the grateful man, who walking with them alongside Véa and Geralt while the witcher leading his camel by its rein.

“Didn’t know you can converse in West-Zerrikan?” Véa jokingly said to the irritated Witcher.

“Just a wild guess; I saved him and now he glided all around me with so much enthusiasm. Kinda like when you saved Jaskier and he crooned around you and your sister for a full day.” Geralt quipped back and speeding up his trekking, intended to put distance between him and this Ali-Baba guy.

“Ahh…those were the days.” Véa mused with a chuckle, then asks “How’s the minstrel by the way? Thought he might be adventuring with you.”

Geralt grunts out and answered “He might still be in Kovir. We parted ways months ago when I went back to my home.”

“Hmm, such a shame though, I’m kind of miss his innuendos and his sing-song. Making for a much enjoyable company than your brooding manner.” The warrior-woman jabs at him and Geralt rolled his eyes with amusement.

“Sure.” And they continued their caravan of three for another hour until Geralt inquire “Where’s Téa by the way?”

Véa hums and thought for a minute or so before answering with “She and Borch goes to the south, something about something at _Loc_ _Dragolis_ that interested him.” Her tone was casual as she whistles a song along the way.

…

“Do you know what this is?!” Ciri yelled out from her position as she uses her inhuman reflexes to dodging and rolling away from the claws of sands from the creature, Rhenawedd and her mercs circling the specter.

“Some sort of specter!” Rhenawedd shouts and uses her blade to deflecting the sand-tether that extended towards her, failing miserably as the sand split when it touched the steel then knocking into her with such force.

“Obviously!” Ciri snipped back sarcastically and cut some strands with her silver, which yielded a more satisfying result as the specter hissing with a manner akin to pain.

“Damn, that sucks.” Rhenawedd whined out as she’d been pulled up by another one of her mercs, opted to just prevent those strands of the specter to reach her and let Ciri handle the fight.

The ashen-haired girl moved around so quickly that some of Rhenawedd’s mercs cheering and looking at the girl with interests, including the black-haired woman herself.

Ciri fights like a wolf when dodging around and strikes like a viper whenever she’d stabbing or slashing at the sand-specter. Her witcher-customed silver sword worn the wraith down effectively as she received small bruises and cuts from the magical daggers and fists of sand.

Ciri whirling herself around gracefully as she closing the distance, constantly getting closer and closer, then with the built-up momentum from her movement, Ciri brings her silver down in a straight line from the wraith’s neck to its hipbones. Split its corporeal form in half and given out a horrifying wail as it slowly crumbling into a pile of darkened sands.

Rhenawedd looked at the ashen-haired girl with wonderment, she’d never seen one who can fight with a monster by herself before; even her mercs and general warriors of Zerrikania would have to team-up for a chance to survive.

Ciri breathing in and out heavily and recomposed herself in a matter of seconds, crouching down to grab her pin off from the sand where it was discarded unintentionally from her bun when the wraith first attacked them. Rhenawedd assumed that the pin must belong to someone dear to her, but might be another individual than the witcher. Ciri gathered her wild tresses into her usual bun at the back of her head and pinned them there, wrapping the fabric into place again and crouching down beside the wraith’s pile of black-sands.

“Hmm…usually a noon-wraith would not ambush people like this, must be an undiscovered subspecies somehow.” The ashen-haired girl mused silently to herself and felt a jab at her shoulder, looking up to see a grinning face of Rhenawedd in front of her.

“Who are you talking to?” the woman’s tone laced with curiosity and adore. Ciri blushes a little and clearing her throat.

“Just say it out loud, helps me think clearer.” The relayed information made Rhenawedd hummed in acknowledgment and looking down at the strange-colored sand along with the ashen-haired girl.

“So, what can you tell me about it?” Rhenawedd indicated her finger at it and Ciri quirked a brow back at her.

“Shouldn’t you and your company know about it more than me? I was here merely two nights ago.” The monster’s hunter-in-training shot back.

“Well, we are bodyguards for a caravan, not hunters or paladins that deal with such creatures, girl, sorry to disappoint.” Rhenawedd retorted and uses her curved-knife to poking the sand.

“Whatever. I think, although it was different from noon-wraith that witchers dealt with back on the Continent, it might be some similarity between this…sand-wraith and those.” Ciri said and inspecting the pile with careful and cautious eyes of a tracker that Geralt has instilled into her.

Ciri analyzed all the things about the wraith from her fight with it and its behavior that she can gather and walking away, following the trail that only improved eyesight of herself and a witcher can see; a faded line of magical residue.

The girl followed it until she reached the source; a skeleton of a human that’d been buried in the sands. Ciri quickly drags the bones out and splayed them out on the bed of sand, knelt closer to inspect them thoroughly.

“Teeth and hipbones suggesting a woman in…early twentieth. Pretty tall for a woman and seems like someone who work-out daily. Ribcage got some chips and nicks, maybe from a weapon that might be a cause of death. Her left femur and right ankle were broken by traumatic force, a club or even a mace.” Ciri mused to herself while Rhenawedd knelt beside her.

“Impressive deduction skills.” Rhenawedd praises and nudging her side playfully, earning a chuckle from Ciri.

“Perks of being with a witcher for some time.” Ciri shrugged her shoulders and inspecting the remains furthermore.

“Among other things?” the leering meaning wasn’t fly over the ashen-haired girl completely.

Ciri opted to just nod quickly and Rhenawedd giggling out.

After minutes of investigation, Ciri requesting a bag of salt and a bottle of Zerrikan spirit from the traders, which they happily provided after Ciri told them of a potential comeback of the sand-wraith.

Ciri gathered the remains in a wrap of tattered clothes, splayed the salt over the package and soaked them in half a bottle of strong alcohol. The remaining liquor has been mixed with a volatile cocktail from her knowledge of witchery trade.

Ciri concentrate and tried so many times to conjuring a sign of Igni but she couldn’t, after a fit of frustration the girl asks for a flint.

“You can use magic?” Rhenawedd asked after she handed the required item and a torn piece of fabric.

“More like was. I don’t know why I can’t anymore.” Ciri pouts and quickly corked the bottle with the fabric, soaking it with the mixture in the glass bottle and then lit it on fire using flint and her hunting knife.

After Ciri threw the Molotov at the gathered remains and walked back to the caravan Rhenawedd approached her to ask some questions.

“What all that’s about?”

“Salt prevent a spirit to leave the remains, or her ‘anchor’ to this realm as we called it. The cleansing fire mixed with specter-oil demolished her remains completely, send her to her afterlife and rid this area of a sand-wraith for good.” Ciri relayed to her.

Rhenawedd nods her head along and returning to leading the caravan towards the trading post as before.

…

… {Under the same Sky} …

Geralt has been traveling the land of Zerrikania for almost a week, with Véa as his traveling companion. He has learned a few Zerrikan from her and able to communicate with merchants and contract providers better than his first days.

“You sure this is the way?” Geralt asks as he trod his Roach, the camel one, following the trade route of merchants and traders heading towards the same destination as his; _The Valley of Moon_.

“You said you’ve been teleported here from a tower of the Gull, _Tor Lara_ , correct?” Véa inquired back and Geralt nods “Near the Luna cliff there’s a tower of Light, _Tor Aine_ , and a high-priestess there knows a great deal about those sorts of magic. There’s also a big arena that I used to gain some income in the past.” Véa clarified for him as they passed by some merchants.

“Short on dinars?” Geralt inquired.

“Very. Do you know how much this saber had cost?” Véa patting her weapon and Geralt shaking his head.

“Anyway. Gotta ask though; why you didn’t go with that Ali-Baba guy? If you're in desperation for some coin.” Geralt continued.

“Riches do not interest me, witcher, if that’s so is the case, I wouldn’t be following Villentretenmerth all those years ago.” Véa shrugged and keep trotting.

“Yeah…could have asked him for his scales though, might come in handy than looking for dinars.” Geralt’s casual tone and his dry humor place a perplexed and somewhat-amused expression on Véa’s face.

…

“Hey, some water?” Rhenawedd offers her a waterskin and Ciri curiously takes it, but due to her thirst after a raging sun burned down on all of them since morning, she gulped it down. Luckily the black-haired doesn’t spike them with something, or so she’d hope.

Recently after the sand-wraith incident, the looks from those around her changed somewhat from curious to wonderment and admiration, especially from the southern woman beside her. Rhenawedd spent more time with her than usual, aimed to pleases her as much as she could and Ciri was torn between enjoying the affectionate cares from the woman or be skeptical of her true agenda; if it happens to be something more rather than a simple need of jumping her bones.

“You shouldn’t walk too fast, Ciri, or you might get lost.” Rhenawedd’s tone turned sultry somehow and sent some shivers down her spine, despite the fucking heat enclosing her from the sun and the boiling sands. The woman’s delicate touches caressing her face as a façade of wiping her sweats.

“…right…” Ciri trails her reply at the move of Rhenawedd’s touchy fingers that seems to elicit more and more heat to rise inside her, making Ciri fidgeting to herself and have to recompose.

“Don’t worry, we are nearly there, at dusk we must reach the second post. You’ll have a chance to get some bath.” Rhenawedd reassured her with a firm grip on her shoulder, and a pressuring that indicating more than a friendly gesture.

…

The trading post is lively as the first one he’d been to days ago.

Geralt surge through the crowd and merchants that presenting all sorts of goods for anyone; spices, artifacts, trinkets, books, silks, linen garbs and clothes, decorated weapons and ceremonial daggers, even prostitution services that indulged any and every fantasy one might have.

Véa ended up renting a room for them and proceed to get foods and wines as well.

“How do you get a free room around here?” Geralt asks as he’s stripping his shirt off, while Véa is stretching and relaxing her muscles from an all-day ride on top of a camel.

“Favor and fame.” Véa shrugged her garb off and presenting herself proudly, Geralt gulped down and clear his throat a little.

“Hmm.” Geralt’s reply came short and he opted to inspect all of his belongings. Véa wasted no time as she approaching the witcher and pressing herself into his rigid one.

“Come now, I know you almost at your limit by now. It’s just natural reaction like you told me once, Geralt, you witchers have heightened sex-drive and now…” her hands trailing down to his navel and grazing over his stiff pants “…you want some relief and I need that too. Why fight it?” Véa whispered into his ear and Geralt produced a guttural grunt.

…

“Hey.” Rhenawedd walked to her swiftly and joining her in the tub faster than Ciri could protest anything.

“What…are you?!” Ciri squeaks as she hurriedly covering her breasts, looking at Rhenawedd’s naked form with mixed of wonder and embarrassment; wonder at the sculpted toned body and curvatures blended together to crafted such fascinating and beautiful creature like that, embarrassed as now the said creature is inching closer to her naked form a with well-known and obvious intention.

“Seems I was right; you have a delicious looking body.” Rhenawedd purred as she forcing Ciri’s hands off from her perky breasts “Hmm…I can see why this ‘Geralt’ of yours loves them so much.” Rhenawedd swept her fingers over the budding nerves and Ciri is crumbled into a melted pile of flesh, mewling softly as the woman’s experienced touches roaming all over her stressed body.

“What…” Ciri tries to wording out her question but her ragged breathing interrupted them “…do you…” now she moans wantonly as Rhenawedd shifted her attention toward Ciri’s apex next “…want?” her inquiry came out weak and silent as her eyes been rolled to the back of her skull via the skillful fingers.

“What you also craved for right now.” Rhenawedd’s sultry voices grazing her nerves as the woman whispering to her ears and licking her neck slowly and sensually.

“But I…” Ciri attempted to pushing Rhenawedd away _accidentally_ groping the woman’s firm bosoms instead, and it was like she’s been possessed as the more Rhenawedd’s moaning reached her ears the more pressure her kneading becomes.

“Aww…seems like you are a natural at this, grey hair.” Rhenawedd’s lips searching for her and, from the heat of the moment, Ciri sealed their lips together passionately. Moaning in synch as their bodies rubbing together.

…

“Faster now, Gwynbleidd!” Véa commanding him as she locking him in place with her ankles, hugging his neck tightly as Geralt abandoning all of his being into her, pounding angrily and heavily into the woman.

Geralt couldn’t produce any reply than a guttural grunt and animalistic hums as Véa cramps around his invading girth that penetrating and retreating rhythmically, eliciting yelps of pleasure and satisfying growls out of the Zerrikanian warrior.

“There! Harder!” Véa’s crooned out as he hit the right spot and rendering her into a writhing mess that only been held up by his strong hands at her hips, while Geralt quickening his thrusts from her backside and pushing her hard into the mattress.

“Whe…where?” Geralt’s shaken voices indicate that he’s about to reach his peak, and Véa quickly rolled them over, straddling the witcher and riding him hard, with abandoned force as she is quite close too.

“Fucking inside me! you couldn’t get me pregnant anyway.” Véa chokes him lightly and Geralt thrusting forcefully upward into her.

…

Ciri slurred awakened from her peaceful sleep, tangled up with Rhenawedd on the mattress.

The woman’s sleepy eyes are looking at her for some time and give a small smile as soon as she notices Ciri’s been awake.

“So…how was it?” Rhenawedd’s quieted inquiry makes Ciri falls into deep thought as she recalled the recent event vividly inside her mind.

“It’s good. I felt so refreshing now.” Ciri replied and closing her eyes tiredly. After some moment passed Ciri felt Rhenawedd’s hand roaming around her exposed body longingly as if somehow their recent sexual encounter was not enough to satiate her hunger.

“That’s good. We should do this more often then.” Rhenawedd placing a light kiss on her stomach and Ciri giggle slightly at the tickling sensation, tracing her fingers absentmindedly in the woman’s hair.

“I…” Ciri trailed and Rhenawedd lowering her kisses towards the gate of heaven again, making the ashen-haired girl squirms “…I would like that.” Ciri crooned out as she felt Rhenawedd’s wet tongue flattened on her bundle of nerves.

…

“How do you know she’s still alive?” Véa asked after they’ve dressed and sprawling on top of the mattress, looking up towards the grating roof and bathing in the moonlight.

Geralt recalling his conversation with his mother from the first night he came to Zerrikania.

“ _She’s waiting for you, Geralt.” Visenna said after a long moment of silence._

“ _You know fucking nothing about that.” Geralt growls out after his fragile resolve has been reinforced again, but the rims of his eyes are still reddened from his cry earlier._

“ _Don’t argue with sorceress when the conversation is about magic, my so-- Geralt.” Her voices stuttered but it was so brief that Geralt paid no mind to it._

“ _There’s no bloody magic involve with Ciri and me.” Geralt growls out, albeit softer than before due to his recent emotional breakdown._

_Visenna turns her face to him, Geralt loss in her soften expression that he didn’t have a chance to see and love since he was a month old, now he harbored only hatred and contempt toward a woman who gave birth to him, mixed with some uncontrollable longing._

_“But there’s one; The sword of Destiny has two edges, you and Cirilla are each. Without your bound fates, the sword is nothing but a broken weapon.” Visenna searches her son’s face and came up with nothing, then she continues “You two were destined to one another and if she’s now dead like you are afraid? You will know.” Visenna finished with certainty that Geralt appreciated secretly._

_“Rest…my son.” Geralt snaps his glowing eyes up toward her at that, mixed of emotions courses through him. His hand automatically grabs her wrist, with no such ferocity as before, more like a grip of a lost boy looking for his mother and Visenna almost choked on tears as her next sentence finalized her night with him “Destiny is the most powerful magic of all, my little wolf, you must find her. Rest and be strong, your Swallow awaits.” She planted a light kiss on his forehead, along with a sleeping spell._

_Geralt slurry falling into a slumber, his grip loosens but the witcher trying to reach for her again, Visenna’s visage blurred away as the sorceress retreating from him “Don’t go…”_

“I just knew.” Geralt replied to her and Véa nods in acceptance.

“It’s another week, witcher, and you will find your answers.” Véa sleepily said and cocooning herself “Night.”

“Night.” Geralt said silently back.

…

“How do you know where to find your witcher?” Rhenawedd asks from her position beside Ciri.

“I just knew that he’s still alive, but at where exactly? I don’t.” Ciri replied silently, keep silent for a minute and resume “That’s why I need to travel with you to _Ard Feainn_ and, according to your map of the region, go to the grand temple, _Tor Dhu-Aenye_. There I might gain some knowledge of his whereabouts.”

“Solid plan. Come on, let get some sleep.” Rhenawedd coaxing Ciri and the ashen-haired girl obliged tiredly.

“Goodnight, Rhena.” Ciri sleepily said to the black-haired woman that is spooning her.

“Name’s Syanna. Night, Ciri.” Syanna whispered to her ears as she snuggled into the younger woman.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visenna has to squeeze her heart dry in order for her son's fate to be completed.


	8. Between Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is looking for a way to her Destiny, again.  
> Geralt was hoping to get some answer at his destination.  
> ...  
> The two must run around in a circle for the right path.  
> ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping you all enjoy my story. :)  
> ...  
> Don't mean to sell drama here but this series comes to me after a rather deadly car accident, it broke my arm and luckily nothing else.  
> I was so glad that I can bring this pairing to you all, it was meant to be in my opinion and to you as well; seeing you are here and reading the story alongside myself.  
> ...  
> Love you all, from the bottom of my heart.  
> \- DM, writer, and illustrator.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Between Worlds.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

[ Cirilla ]

The big city of _Ard Feainn_ was marvelous, Ciri could not find any other word to describe it.

The sea of buildings outlining the city’s borderline without a wall, they’ve connected with their surroundings. Small wells adorned the streets and have many occupants bucketing waters for their daily usages, few kids and teens hanging around to converse or playing with decorated fountains here and there.

Ciri noticed that the building mostly made of clay and fibers, and might be using their special mixture to make them resist fire as she saw some of the kids 'playfully' throw sparks and embers at many homesteads, earning yells and shouts from owners and nearby adults.

Rhenaw--, sorry, Syanna walking beside her, ordering her mercenaries around after their protected charges of traders have been dispersed as soon as they’ve reached the city’s gate. They are looking for a way to relax and enjoy their shares of coins via their recent contract.

“Where do you want to go? There’s a bathhouse to the west, A bazaar at the east, a not-quite-so-boring mausoleum near the palace, and many quiet spots around the city that are best for relaxing and enjoying oneself.” Syanna inquired as she strode the street with Cirilla at her side, walking and engaging in small talks along the way.

…

“Ahh…that’ better.” Syanna moaned out as the cool liquid submerging her body.

“This is wonderful after a long journey.” Cirilla croons as well, letting the cold-aromatic water rustling over her skins and every spot of dirty all over herself from a three-days trip without any bath.

“Hmm…so a bazaar next? There are so many things there that you might find interesting. Garments, trinkets, weapons, armors or anything, you name it.” Syanna suggests and Ciri absentmindedly nodding along, relaxing into the cooling bath.

“How do I get to _Tor Dhu-Aenye_?” Ciri asks after a while as they soaked in the artificial river inside their secluded rented-chamber.

“Northern city’s gate, then you take the ancient road, follows the trail of the Charred Path for two days.” Syanna replied while scrubbing herself with soap.

Running water of Zerrikanian’s bathhouse was so good that for a brief moment Ciri has forgotten about her worry over Geralt. But then when she had touched her scar, his broken form rushed back into her mind.

“Thinking about him again?” Syanna inquired and Ciri nodded back solemnly.

“You’ll meet soon, I’m sure of it.” Syanna offered and Ciri shooting back a small smile.

[ Geralt ]

He has never seen anything like this.

Geralt dances around giant scorpions, Sand Emperors Véa called them, and focus towards surviving for now.

One of the Sand Emperor got closer than the other to puncture a gaping hole on his chest due to Geralt’s lamed state, even though Visenna’s treatment healed all of his injuries like a miracle but the repaired bones would never allow the witcher to moves as graciously as he used to be, but luckily Véa intercepts the stinger.

“Be careful!” Véa shouts at him as she rolled out of the way and in the same-moment deflecting another stinger from her side, making a distance between herself and the sand emperor.

“Their carapaces are so thick! I need a mace or a club,” Geralt shouts and looking around while letting his instinct guided his body and reflexes and got nothing in sight.

Véa swings with all of her might and maimed one of the sand emperors and notices something; her saber cut through their joints easily.

“Gwynbleidd! Aim at their joint!” Geralt nods his head and uses his superhuman agility to evades and side-dodges any attacks came from his current opponent, his hands graciously whirling his steel and severed the legs off. The hissing sounds from it hitting his ears and Geralt swiftly tackled the incoming stinger, then lopped the venomous tip with practiced accuracy.

If its physical doesn’t stray far from their insectoid counterpart, he should throw away a tactic of cutting tendons and come up with something else. He quickly casts Yrden down around himself and the giant scorpion, slowing the others around them as the white-haired witcher climbing towards the beast’s head and Aard at where its brain should be, knocking it and stunned the insectoid effectively.

He uses the pommel of his sword to hammering the carapace in one spot repeatedly, cracking it open. After his hands were covered in grimes, Geralt plunged his steel deep inside the cracked spot and penetrates the sand emperor’s brain, stopped the thrashing immediately.

…

Geralt recalled the same scenario from years ago when he had to get out of the Selkiemore’s stomach back in Cintra. But now the only difference is that he wasn’t eaten by these sand emperors but the state he's in now is the same; soaked from head to toe with thick layers of grimes.

“You look quite handsome, witcher.” Véa teases him and earning a deadly glare from the guts-covered witcher.

“Tell me there’s an oasis nearby.” Geralt growls out frustratingly as Véa is laughing loudly while shaking her head.

…

After he has ‘carapaced’ the strong yet light shells off of a Sand Emperor, Geralt reached an oasis in an hour.

He washed and scrubs himself thoroughly, using the native’s methods as to not stained or ruined their natural source of water among The Desert.

“Almost done? The last group is about to leave.” Véa inquired from the direction of his backside.

Geralt grunts an acknowledgment and finished his cleaning ritual there, bucketing the water and poured them over himself from head to toe, running another clean rag to dry his wet skins.

“The Valley you mentioned, did they have a blacksmith there?” the Witcher asked out towards the warrior when they have returned to their position at the head of the caravan, as a paid protection details for the traders and merchant.

“Did I mention the greatest and biggest Arena in Zerrikania? I have, figure it out yourself.” Véa snorts and trod her camel up front, taking the role of a lookout.

“Let’s hope it’s not a waste of time.” Geralt whispers silently to the necklace that is somehow miraculously still tugged inside his jacket and in perfect condition even after the fight with Vilgefortz. Although to called it a ‘fight’ was an exaggeration; the mage owed him with ease due to his superior magic, his steel staff seems too light for a man with his built to maneuver around like a twig. Just a thought recalling the event sent phantom pains through his left side of the body.

[ Cirilla ]

Ciri finally reached the intimidating Tower of Black-Flame, _Tor Dhu-Aenye_ , after a long ride on her new camel; courtesy of Syanna.

“Let’s hope I’m not here for nothing.” Ciri said to herself, breathing in and out to calm her anxiety, and walked through the arch-entrance.

The lit torches adorned the entire length of the corridor seems like an unnecessary decoration as the light of day illuminated the obsidian walls for all to see, there’s some area that even almost blinded her.

Altars and statues decorated the inner hall, a vast and circular room that shooting up to the dome-top of the tower and adorned with ladders and shelves. Acolytes (mostly women) and maidens pacing around with their tasks at hands or books and tomes, even some have robes and ceremonial-looking items held in their arms. At the center of the circle located a ring of burning pots enclosed the woman that clad in elaborate fancy wrap-dress on the stall, not a throne or a chair.

Ciri is about to approach but got stop by one of the maidens.

“ _Taedh_ i _éigean_ i _ess_ i _gwen_ i.” The maiden said to her and Ciri rolled her eyes.

“ _Aé_ i _éigean_ i _aep_ i _dice_.” The ashen haired retorts calmly and try to push passed the maiden, but felt herself locked in place instead, couldn’t move a muscle. Ciri looking up at the high-priestess as the said woman slowly walking down from the raised platform, and her hands gesturing a conjure of magic.

“ _Taedh_ i _ess_ i _gwen_ i.” The high-priestess demands in stern voices, and directing some of her maidens to help hurled Ciri towards the cleansing chamber. The ashen haired groans but concede. **

…

After a long process of bathing, scrubbing, seasoning(yes, they seasoned her with some sort of spices), applying make-ups and drawing some _Henna_ on her forehead and the back of her hands, Ciri was directed to drapes the white-thin ceremonial linen over her shoulder before she deemed ‘fit’ to have an audience with the high-priestess.

Ciri is standing in front of the middle-build woman, dressed in red and golden silks, the veil that covered her face have a semi-transparent fabric and the ashen-haired girl can tell that the one in front of her is quite similar to the Continent’s sorceresses; stopped their aging process as soon as they could control their magic. The only difference is that Zerrikanian sorceress, or more accurately; priestess, doesn’t wear a revealing garb.

“Yeá…” the priestess said out with satisfaction laced in her tone, slowly attuning with Ciri’s appearance.

The ashen haired squirms slightly under the sorceress’s penetrating and judgmental gazes, similar to ones she had received from Yennefer from their first introduction. The thought of the raven-haired sorceress brings a prickle of tears to her eyes.

The high-priestess’s brows shoot up at the sight but she commented nothing and turned her back towards the girl, waving a hand as a sign and the maidens retreating from the area.

“ _Aé_ i…” Ciri starts but a silencing pair of hands came up, stopping her mid-sentence.

“Enough with the formals, girl. I see that you aren’t quite fluent in Zerrikan, yet.” High-priestess said out in an accented Common.

“Thank you. So, I was hoping to—”

“Ask me about your Destiny?” The high-priestess intercepts her again, starting to grating Ciri’s nerve a bit.

“Yes. Could you help me?” Ciri said in her usual monotone, adapted from Geralt.

The high-priestess saunters around her ring of fire, using magic to elevates and shaping them into the likeness of a dragon that is soaring upwards, flying around the hall and maneuvering with grace. Ciri was awed by the show of illusion as her eyes never leave the flying drake.

“You ever heard the tale of our protector?” The high-priestess inquires casually as she manifests another set of fire-dragons and sent them off flying around after the first one. Making for a mesmerizing show of light inside the hall of the tower.

“Bits and pieces.” Ciri replied and twirled around slowly to enjoy the illusions created by the priestess of the divine flame.

“Hmm…Once, this realm was full with luscious forests.” The swarm of drakes turned into a projector of a realistic scenery of ancient time. The high-priestess gesturing again and the scene changed “The Conjunction of the Spheres brought lives and riches from other worlds onto our realm,” the said items played across the illusioned tapestry “and then the third one brought us the gods.” The scene alternates around many distinguish dragons; blacks, reds, greens, whites, and goldens.

“The greatest of them all, king of the dragons; Zerrikanterment,” the tapestry dissolved into the most beautiful creature Ciri has ever seen; four horns protruding from its head and curved backwards, the intimidating posture and aura she can felt even though this is only an illusion amazed her, large set of wings extending from its shoulders at each side, muscled limbs attached to a powerful and elegance body that stood taller than the tower alongside it on all four. Ciri looks closely and concluded that it is the same tower she was in right now.

“He appeared here first, alongside the Tower from his world. He soared up,” the projection did as she described “and with his divine might, he burnt the whole ancient forest down and then he flew away towards the north, broke the mountain and gave us the greatest gift of all; water.” The projection played along with the tale.

“He separated us from the Continent and we are so grateful for that.” The high-priestess finished her tale with a gesture and dissipated the projection, turning them back into their original pots of oil.

“Why? The Continent has so many good things to offer.” Ciri’s question came out quickly due to her curiosity, the high-priestess chuckles slightly with ridicule and looking at her.

“Wars? Famine? Those were the ‘goods’ you mentioned?” The high-priestess inquiry came out bitter and insulting, Ciri gritted her teeth to calm her self down; she couldn’t start a fight with a sorceress without aids of magical spells; which she seems to lack as of now.

“We are contented with what we have and lived in for centuries, girl, we do not wage war with others just to scourge their lands or hoards their treasures.” The disgusts in her voices are prominent to Ciri’s ears and the girl rolled her eyes annoyingly.

“Alright, let’s not debate again for our own sanities? Could you help me find my witcher or not?” Cirilla is starting to get irritates at the high-priestess’s attitude towards her.

“That feisty could come in handy in many places, also it could bring destruction and demises as well.” The high-priestess mused silently and continues “I cannot meddle with the intention of Destiny and Fates, Zireael, all I could do is pointing directions.” The high-priestess sensed frustration rising inside the girl and pointing her finger towards the path Ciri was coming in.

“The golden jade awaits you at the entrance, Zireael. The sword of Destiny must be whole.” The high-priestess finished and returning to her stall, continue praying to the fire as usual, and ordering her acolytes and maids to escort the ashen-haired girl out.

Ciri grumbles all the way out and getting frustrates at the unhelpful prediction from the fire-priestess. Then she saw a girl standing at the entrance.

Dirty-Blonde hair and clad in Zerrikanian armor, saber at her hip and looking no older than herself, stood with grace and practiced posture, looking nearly bored to death.

“Finally! You know I have been standing here for hours?” The blonde’s voice is loud and clear with tiredness and irritation, not towards the ashen-haired one but at someone else.

“Uh…no?” Ciri replied in small voices and trying to understand something, no one provides of course. The acolytes and maidens that walking with her retreats back into the tower, Ciri looking back toward the blonde and cleared her throat “Who are you?”

The blonde approaches her and shooting a hand out, Ciri reluctantly shook it firmly and noticing that the girl in front of her have quite a strong grip. The blonde gave her a wide grin “Name’s Saesenthessis. But you can call me Saskia.”  
  
** Zerrikan resemble Elder Speech, I just added an ‘i’ after each word. **

[ Geralt ]

“Almost forgot; how’s that little one?” Geralt asked her as they’ve reached a spot where the caravan would be camping tonight and the two of them are patrolling the proximity of the camp as a precaution.

Véa looking back at him with confusion in her eyes.

“The baby dragon? Borch’s daughter?” Geralt elaborates and Véa seems to understands now.

Véa is thinking for a moment, then replied with “She’s grown, might be adventuring somewhere by now.” Her short and casual answer left no room for more and the witcher have nothing else to say.

…

At night Geralt was out of his mediation via the strange noises.

He slowly risen and grabbing his steel, uses his mutated eyes to scan the darkened area. Came up with nothing he shifted to his nostrils, he caught some odors and it was sure as hell not from a swarm of camels circled them as a fence and a live-perimeter.

The sounds turned into horrifying wails as soon as he could make out the shadowed-shape.

Half-rotting body of a monstrous humanoid appears, jumping on a singular masculine leg instead of walking or running, a tail whipping around slowly from the spot where it should have been a genital, its half-rotten face adorned with a scowl and a glowing singular eye, mouth filled with misshapen teeth.

The Witcher was about to go out before a strong grip catches his wrist, he turned his head and met with sharp eyes from Véa.

“It fast, an ambush is best.” The warrior whispered to him and Geralt reluctantly followed her and Véa handed him a lit torch.

“Use fire on their rotting side, scare them off.” Geralt quirk a brow at her.

“What about a kill?” Geralt’s inquiry met with a shaking head of the Zerrikanian free warrior.

“Only magic has a fatal effect on them, _Nasnas_ was born via contorted magical experiment.” Véa answered his question quietly, stalking the _Nasnas_ from behind “And I’m not talking about your witchers’ signs, only real magic from a priestess of the drakes can kill them permanently.”

“So as dragon’s fire, then.” Geralt quips back and earned a chuckle from her.

“ _Yéa_ , bad luck that the only dragons we knew of are somewhere else.” Véa hissed at him as soon as the _Nasnas_ turns around as if looking for something.

“Alright. Now what?” Geralt inquired again after the _Nasnas_ turned back and starts jumping away.

“How good are your throws?” Véa’s question laced with a challenge.

Geralt smirk and without much aiming he threw the torch like a hatchet and it hits the monster’s rotten side with bulls-eye accuracy.

The _Nasnas_ howl in pain and hurriedly jumping away with such speed that the Witcher has only encountered when fighting a Garkain or an Alp.

Véa exhales her held breath after the _Nasnas_ has gone so far that the two of them couldn’t hear its screams anymore.

“You seem terrified.” Geralt said in his monotone and got a glare from Véa after his indication.

“One must fear such a creature, Gwynbleidd. The _Nasnases_ have small numbers across the realm but they’ve made up for that fact with their deadly touches. One scratch from them makes your wound infected and slowly rotten away, agonizingly painful.” Véa relayed to him with shuddered form.

“Personal?” the Witcher inquired.

The warrior-woman nods and exhales “Back when I used to fight in the Gladiator circle, I was known as the Invincible Twins, with Téa. Until one day a source told us that the finale spectacle would pitch the winner against a _Nasnas_ , I and my sister purposefully defeated ourselves and have to witness such a horrifying scene.” At that Geralt nodding his head along with her commentary.

“Quite a spectacle you Zerrikanians have.” Geralt’s comment earned a chuckle from her.

“It was better than pillaging villages and slaughtering elven babes, that’s certain.” Her quips elicited a grimace chuckle from him.

“Yeah…no shit.” And the two returned to their spot, talking about everything and nothing until the woman falls asleep first.

The Witcher looked up the night sky, caught a constellation and his thoughts drifted to the pair of emerald orbs that looked at him with nothing but adoration and love, gleaming beautifully whenever the owner was crying or laughing joyfully, reflecting the light from a bonfire or a candlelight as they rocked together whether with himself or her in control of the pacing.

Missed her intoxicating scents.

Missed her curious touches.

Missed running his calloused fingers and hands over her curves and scars.

Missed her nightingale voices at his side.

Missed her snippiness when they were on the hunt or even as they were arguing about what to eat or drink at the tavern.

Missed nuzzling his nose into her soft ashen tresses and the warmth of her body pressed against his at night.

Missed the sweetness and sour of her lips between his.

Missed her reckless but talented fighting prowess that brings trouble as much as helping.

‘ _Jaskier must be proud_ ,’ Geralt thought to himself and snorts quietly at his ridiculousness ‘ _becoming quite the romantic_.’

Geralt storing the thoughts into his locked chest, located deep inside his heart and began meditating again. Both to calm his nerves and absorbing the surrounding magic into himself.

…

“Yenna, you must rest.” Istredd groaned out from his desk opposite the restless sorceress, pacing around constantly and fidgeting with everything in sight.

“I have been searching for weeks, Val! And came up with nothing for fuck’s sake!” Yennefer’s hysterical reached a new peak.

Istredd sighs heavily and stood up from his spot, approaching and taking a bent locating device from her hands. Yennefer protests a little but conceded, slouching herself on the couch and rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“You knew as I do that the more tired you are, the more counterproductive you’ll become.” He rested a hand on the forehead and surging a soothing spell into her, Yennefer’s ragged breathing calmed down and even.

“I just…I can’t believe I left her behind.” Yennefer’s voices sounded meek and weakened, Istredd has only heard them once back when she’s about to be sent to Nilfgaard all those decades ago.

“She saved you, it could’ve been worse.” He tried to coax her but Yennefer is too stubborn, as always.

“Cut me some slack, Val, you knew I could snap those bastards’ necks without twitching a finger.” Yennefer almost growls out as she recalled her close-encounter with death itself back at Tor Lara, that is now rendered to ruin on Thanned Isle.

“When you’re not tired out of your ass and almost passed out from exhaustion, yes.” Istredd replied with sarcasm and earned a snort from her.

“Sleep. Tomorrow you will find something, I’m sure of it, Yenna.” Istredd tries again but yields the same result; a death glare from the raven-haired sorceress.

“Aren’t you an archaeologist? I don’t recall you’ve turned into fortuneteller and such.” Her insulting tone must have irritated or even riled up somebody else, but not him. He knew her for so long that he looked past them as a mere shell that encasing her true self underneath.

“Yenna…you’ve worked constantly for days. Your body and brain needs a rest, it’s not stupid advice, its science. You knew this better than anyone else.”

“I can’t! What if something happened to her? What if I’ll be too late if I take a nap? What if Vilgefortz has someone looking for her? And don’t get me to start on Geralt.” Yennefer groans tiredly.

“You are tired and cannot think straight as of now. Sleep or take a nap, please.” Istredd pleads her and Yennefer sighed out.

“I can’t even find his body, or his news anywhere! He should be dead if he’s not turning the Continent upside-down looking for her.” Yennefer almost scream in frustration.

“Why are you still pining after him?” his question came out suddenly, surprised even the one who said them.

“What?! I was here, hoping that you could help me in locating my missing daughter and yet you’re questioning my…my…” Yennefer seems frustrated as the indication from Istredd made something dawn on her.

“Your love life? Come on, Yenna, we knew each other for ages. You are like an open book to me.” Istredd groaned and stood up to paces around in short circle.

“Val…It’s not like that.”

“You knew damn well you cannot fool me, Yenna, despite the truth that he is the man that your so-called _daughter_ is in love with. You are still in love with him.”

“That’s…”

“Why?” his question came out silently, with his pleading eyes bore into her.

Yennefer seems to lost in her thought or just respond with silent, as usual, he couldn’t tell. So, he looked away and walked towards the window, looking out at the stilled scenery in the middle of the night of _Aedd Gynvael_.

“If you can wish…for anything in this universe, anything at all, what would you have wished for?” Yennefer’s tone was nostalgic and genuinely curious that Istredd has to think for a moment.

After a long pause, Istredd replied “Eternal life.”

Yennefer smiles a little at that and commented “Because you would have all the time in the world to study rocks and ruins?” and they are both laughing quietly to their inside joke.

“That’s one way to put it.” He said with an amused tone.

Yennefer sighs heavily and said with a resigned tone “Geralt…he wished…for the djinn to let me go.”

Istredd was stunned in place at her revelation. He turns his eyes around to her direction and met with the strangest sight to behold; Yennefer has a sad expression and prickle of tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Me, a complete stranger. Me, a sorceress who enchanted him to enact her revenge. Me, a complete moron who thought that such a man would wish the djinn to make me love him. Me…” Yennefer’s voices grew quieter with each word spoken and shaken at the last. Her broken shell scattered around herself and Istredd is dumbfounded by all the vulnerabilities a broken woman in front of him shows.

“…leave a candle,” Yennefer silently demanded and cocooning herself on the lounge “go to your room, Val, and good night.”

Istredd knew that if he attempts something now, she would be furious and the accident might happen; to which he means that it will be either his life or the town itself.

He douses the candles but one as she requested and leave the room.

…

“What is the meaning of this?” King Auberon inquired after Eredin and Imlerith brought in a chained Avallac’h, walking purposefully towards his throne.

“My king,” Eredin exaggeratedly bow alongside Imlerith, hiding his disgusts. Then he forced Avallac’h onto his knees and continue “We caught him aiding the _Ichaer_ bearer to flee our grasp. In the _Aen Seidhe_ ’s world.”

Imlerith just nodding his head along with the accusation by the commander with much enthusiasm.

“Crevan? Is this true?!” King Auberon asks the Aen Saevherne, who once been his daughter’s betroth and now is the royal advisor for centuries upon centuries.

Avallac’h keeps his usual stoic mannerism and just standing peacefully despite his ankles and wrists were chained and his robe been tattered.

“We’ve crossed the nexus as soon as Caranthir detected a burst of the girl’s power, arriving at the scene we saw this traitor,” Eredin’s spit laces so much venom as he directed the moniker towards the sage “aiding Gwynbleidd and sending Zireael away before we can reach her at Tor Lara.”

“Crevan…you better have an explanation for this or else—” King Auberon’s tone turned stern and dangerous, but Avallac’h stops him unabashedly with just a raised hand.

“I have, your highness. According to the Codex,” the snort from Imlerith interrupted him a bit but Avallac’h paid the massive general no mind “Zireael needs Gwynbleidd to guide her through the eternal blizzard. She must be trained at controlling the gift of Lara in order to save us all,” the sage gesturing around himself with chained hands “from destruction and calamity. I helped her because otherwise, she would be dead from the potent magic of the Tower of the Gull’s singularity, I sent her away so that she may live and can achieve her true potential.” The sage said casually and flick his wrist a little, evaporated the cuffs off of himself immediately.

“What are you suggesting, Crevan?” King Auberon’s curiosity has been piqued and Avallac’h secretly smirks inside to the easiness of manipulating the king of the Alders.

“Hold off the expeditions of The Commander and the Red Riders. Let me go to her and give her the training and when she is ready, I will see to it personally that she complete her task.” His certainty can fool even the most cautious one, such as Auberon and Eredin. Although the latter seems frustrated by his suggestion and requests.

“Hmm…that’s…reasonable.” King Auberon grumbles silently while rubbing his chin.

“My king, I would like to—” Eredin was about to protest, but Auberon interrupted him.

“Let do as my royal advisor suggested, commander. Stationed your soldiers and let Crevan do his magic.” With finality, the king waves them out dismissively.

“Have a nice stay, Eredin.” Avallac’h smirked at the commander as soon as they have passed the palace’s gates.

“It’s the girl, or your head on a platter next time, Fox. Choose wisely.” Eredin threatened the sage and walking away furiously, followed by Imlerith that shot death glares at the shorter elf.

Avallac’h takes the necklace out from his secret pouch, inspecting it with nostalgia and sadness dwelled in his eyes.

“I will keep her safe, Lara, I gave you my word.” He whispered to the necklace of Lara Dorren, back to the time when they have been madly in love with one another before she crossed the nexus to the Continent and condemned herself with a human.

Avallac’h concentrates in front of the circle inside _Tor Zireael_ ; the magical tower that will appear anywhere in any dimension randomly, unless one has the knowledge of how to tethering it to their realm for a short period of time.

He opened a dimensional portal and step through.

The Tower of the Swallow shoots a pillar of light upward to the sky, splitting the clouds in half and vanished in a split-second.

…

“Damnit, they couldn’t be this much.” Vesemir growls out after he has propelled himself out of the vicinity of the swarm of Nekkers.

The old master heard rumors about strange appearances of monsters all across the realm, so he decided to left Kaer Morhen and conduct the investigation himself. He found that their numbers are quite concerning, it was like the world has been reeled back into the golden age of witchers again; when that wherever you glance around you’ll meet with at least one monster prowling about.

But the worse thing is that the monsters are now too many for the number of witchers left in the Continent, even as a master as himself almost died from the flock of Echidnas three days ago, in the region that shouldn’t be inhabited by them anymore.

He must not think about that for now and focus on surviving the ordeal in front of him; even the strongest witcher could have died by an alliance of necrophages and overconfident.

He chops and slices, he cuts and dices them one by one for hours on end.

…

Eskel rolled out of the Jotun’s reach.

He never encountered one such specimen in a long time, and by that, he meant only from etchings in tomes and books that Vesemir drowned him in as a candidate; decades ago.

To found an extinct specimen out here in Maribor was strange enough. The aiding chestnut-haired sorceress who’s casting spells and shielding him is the whole new level of weirdness.

“I can’t hold it much longer, witcher!” Triss Merigold yelling out from her vantage point, above him.

“Just a bit more, cutie, I almost got her.” Eskel shouts back as he dodged a flying boulder.

“Her!?”

“Yeah!” Eskel replied and swung his silver up to severed the Jotun’s Achilles’ tendon “You can’t see its boobs?!”

“I was more focusing on saving my own ass so, no!” Triss yelled back and cast another force-field to intercept a high-speed rock that would’ve been colliding with her chest.

“So, buy me a drink after this?” Eskel’s inquiry came out short and frantic as he circling the gargantuan monster, trying to avoid being crush as much as he can.

“In your dream!” Triss’s retort came out halfheartedly and a small smug tugged at her lips, despite everything she has been facing at the moment.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Eskel said out and gathering all of his stored Chaos, then shot a massive Aard towards the Jotun. Knocking it off its feet.

“Restraint!” the black-haired witcher shouting out loud and the cornflower eyes sorceress quickly cast a binding spell on the Jotun.

He aimed the silver at its eye and lunges the blade in with all of his might.

…

Lambert holstered his blade after he was sure that the Bruxa is dead.

If he was so delicate he would have been ashamed that he has to fight the vampire in nothing but his nakedness after said vampire reached orgasm after him.

But fuck it all, he gathered his clothes and quickly dressed. Walking out of the rented room in the middle of the night, blood seeping out from under his ribcage where the bitch’s claws gashed him quite good.

He stumbled along the street of Oxenfurt, trying to find a medic or a healer or anyone. Until he stopped at the clinic that has a symbol of the caduceus on the door. He knocked twice, as hard as he could muster in his weakened state and soon a set of footsteps reached the front door, Lambert sliding down the wall at the side and met with a surprisingly beautiful redhead.

“A witcher? Is that you, Geralt?!” Her voices are a mix of concerns and hope but Lambert couldn’t dwell on them any longer, he crawled inside the clinic difficultly.

“Deep…cuts…help.” He can only croaked out and nearly collapse into oblivion if not for the medic’s faded scents of herbs and perfume.

“You must be one of his brothers. Can you walk?” her question was something of a habit rather than real curiosity, she checked him quickly and stood up.

Lambert reaches for his belt and curses weakly as he finds nothing there, not even an empty vial. He lay on the floor and uses his breathing technique, one Vesemir has excessively taught him and he pretends not to remember, and slowing his heart-rate down further, keeping the amount of bleeding as small as possible.

The medic came back in a rush, lowered herself quickly on the floor beside him and starts tending his wounds.

After a long process, the medic exhales loudly and with relief, Lambert is still groggy from the loss of blood and nearly faint so many times.

“I’ll give you some Swallow, might help with reproducing your blood cells.” The pretty face said to him and Lambert looked up at her, inhaling her scents but find a tiny tinge of Geralt’s musk lingered on her, he snorts weakly.

“Guess…pretty boy gave you some, huh?” he croaked out slurry and the medic have some frown on her face.

“Who?”

“White hair, old as fuck.” Lambert replied with a strangled chuckle.

“Oh…Geralt?” her face reddened a little at the mention and the recollection of events rushing back into her mind.

“Aye…”

“Name’s Shani, by the way.” Shani changed the subject and tried to properly greet him, the young witcher in front of her smirked back weakly.

“Lambert, nice to meet…” and then he was out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your time.


	9. Facing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stray them apart anymore.  
> ...  
> The Wild Hunt found her.  
> Yennefer is on the verge of insanity.  
> The Witcher can take on a dragon, teenage one but, still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "People linked by Destiny will always find each other."  
> \- Visenna, Netflix's The Witcher.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Facing.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Yennefer groans as the ramming from the front doors of Istredd’s villa awake her.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Her grumpy and restless voices echoing down to the pair of visitors, one she knew damn well and another one she has never seen before. Jaskier’s aged face (ha!) looking up at her with alerts and worries adorned the bard’s fair face.

“Oh, finally, Yennefer! I was at these blasted doors for minutes and you seem to be ignoring my urgent visit!” his usual elaborate theatric mannerism is still grating her nerves despite the years.

“Apology for my friend’s interruption, lady sorceress, but we do have urgent matters to discuss with you.” The companion of Jaskier greeted her with more sophisticate and politeness, but whenever Yennefer looked at the middle-aged man she felt a rush of adrenaline, akin to whenever she’d face with dangers or fatal situations.

“Fine,” Yennefer waves her hand a little and the warding on the doors gave out, allowing the two an access “but it better be worth my beauty sleep.”

…

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all this time.” Jaskier’s words were not a question, rather an observation.

“ _Searching_ for Cirilla, you mean.” Yennefer corrected him with irritation and continue her locating spells over the map of the Continent, the most accurate and expensive one by Niklaus of Brugge.

“Whatever, Geralt has been missing—”

“I’m well aware, my dear minstrel, I have used all available methods for locating them since the coup at Thanned Isle.” Yennefer cut in with her usual nonchalant tone, there’s another stranger with them after all.

“And?” Jaskier’s question came out hopeful and despaired at the same time.

“Nothing. Weeks long of constant searching and I came up with nothing, not even a trace of Ciri’s…” her untouched eyebrows indicate at the grey-haired gentleman in the room.

“It’s okay, Regis is a friend of mine and Geralt. He knew about our dear Cirilla.” Jaskier’s reassuring gesture put her mind at ease, a little, but still.

“…Okay. Cirilla’s power has not shown ever since the coup and sees as witcher’s physiology prevented them from being located by magic, I’m at loss now.” Yennefer sighed and stops her magic, preserving them for another time.

“Have you ever consider using conventional means?” Regis asked as he fidgeting with some of Istredd’s devices and tools, Yennefer tries to probe into his mind but found the passage has been blocked “Don’t waste your energy, lady sorceress, I am immune to magic.” Regis’s smooth voices rang out and he briefly turned to gave her a tight smile.

“Sorry about that.” Yennefer replied with the tiniest amount of shame.

“You are educational and tend to learn everything. I understand that well, believe me.” Regis reassured and resuming his question again “So, did you have been using conventional means at locating them at all?”

Yennefer sighs deeply, slouching onto the chair and rubbing her hands over her face, without no makeups applied she do not have to care if she would smear them. Yennefer’s raw face was a peculiar sight for the bard as he usually saw her always applying something.

“Yes…I have hired groups of discreet trackers to find them, but so far? Nobody has seen any sign indicating Geralt’s or Cirilla’s trails at all.”

“Hmm…this is worrying. How do we approach this?” Jaskier’s inquiry came out serious and out of sort to her ears.

“Blood ritual might work? Unfortunately, we have no relatives of the witcher’s nor of the girl’s.” Regis suggested with resigned manner.

“That’s why I am struggling as of now, Geralt can’t sire any children and Cirilla is the last of Cintran’s royal bloodline.” Yennefer groans.

The three spent all day trying to come up with something.

…

Avallac’h knelt on the bed of sands, tracing the magical residue of the Elder Blood that is still lingered inside the ruin of _Tor Korath_.

“The singularity must’ve severed her connection to the Source…This will be difficult.” Avallac’h grumbles to himself as he looking out at the horizon.

He opted to look for the nearest settlement, one lost must find shelter and he’ll go from there.

[ Cirilla ]

She had been traveling with Saskia for days now.

The blonde has an easygoing attitude, funny, courageous and fearless. Her skills with her saber are quite impressive, Ciri has been asking to spar with her whenever they get a chance.

They have slain monsters along the way, some paid and some don’t, Ciri is having the time of her life right now as she can fight undiscovered species of Zerrikania. With constant worries over the fate of Geralt as an occasional mood killer.

They are half the journey towards the Arena, according to a merchant at the recent trading post they have passed, and Saskia assured her that is the destination they must go.

“How can you know he’ll be there?” Ciri finally questioning her companion.

“Well…you are looking for him and he’s, maybe, looking for you, might be seeking the aid of the high-priestesses of this realm. The one stationed in _Tor Dhu-Aenye_ was good and all but the Grand Magus at _Tor Aine_ is who one must seek guidance from.” Saskia’s confident attitude calmed her a bit.

“You sure know what you are doing.”

“Of course, I was born and raise here.”

“Parents?”

“A father, sadly.”

“Well…better than nothing.”

“You could say that, grey-locks.”

“You know I hate that nickname.”

“Well, I like it.”

“You are such—”

“A Bitch? Thanks.”

“…Where is your dad?”

“Somewhere south, he loves adventuring and such. Senile and their peculiar attractions I suppose.” Saskia shrugged with an amused smile and Ciri giggles a bit at that.

“Can’t blame him though, this land has so much to offer.” Ciri looking at the beautiful sunset scenery around her, breathing in the air of the cooling desert.

“Let’s not dwelled ourselves, the sun is setting now and we must find shelter soon; there’s a storm coming our way.” Saskia said grimly and speeding up her camel, Ciri followed.

They quickly got their things off of their camels, using rags to covered the mounts’ head and directing them to lay down, acting as makeshift shelters for the two girls.

Ciri and Saskia wolfing their foods as quickly as possible when they’ve seen the storm coming in from the horizon. Saskia throws another thick veil at Ciri and the two huddled up together under the protective fabrics.

“Can we talk a bit?” Ciri interjects during the raging storm whooshing over their heads.

“Sure.” Saskia replied.

“Why did a girl like you traveling alone?”

Saskia was silenced for a while, contemplating the question and conducting her answer before replying with “It’s kind of a family thing, you know? My…ancestors would raise their children to a certain age, and then they will be told to go out there for a year or so, adventuring and shit to become an adult.”

Ciri nods attentively and compared the story to one of her own, then said “Similar to mine, but the people who grant me a rite of passage were not my blood.” Ciri playing with Geralt’s medallion on her neck absentmindedly; Syanna found it near the spot she had been stung by a sand king.

“But they are family, correct?” Saskia nudges her side and Ciri chuckled.

“Yes, they are.” She recalled the moments back when she was training under the three witchers at Kaer Morhen. A nostalgic smile tugged at her lips and the two huddled together for a while, waiting for a storm to go away.

…

“Saskia!” Ciri’s frantic screams jolted her out of sleep.

The Dragoness looking around and saw the ashen-haired girl has been hurdled up by the elbow by a tall and armored apparition with an icy fog circling its body.

Saskia rolled out of the way of the brought down elven sword just in time, keeping her head intact.

One of the specters lunged at her, brandishing a battle axe. Saskia clumsily searching for her saber and bring them up to deflecting the blow. With talented movement, the Dragoness disposed of the apparition with her saber by cutting swiftly at its neck.

She jumped up quick, whirling her saber around to deflecting and attacking the horde of specters that encircled her, making her way towards the thrashing girl who tries to get out of the specter’s vise grip.

“Cirilla!” her voices came out hoarse and bestial, her self-control betraying her at the moment but she doesn’t care. Right now, keeping the ashen-haired girl safe is the most important thing.

Saskia roars loudly and powerfully, sending shockwaves and knocking the Wild Hunt’s soldiers off their feet, some even evaporate from the condensed pulses of magic coming off of her as she's transforming; fangs adorned her mouth, eyes turning lizard-like and engorged, her neck elongated and her physical form enlarged, her skins turned into scales of greenish-golden color that she has inherited from both of her parents, wings protrudes from her shoulder blades and seems to shut out the moonlight from those under her.

Saskia swipes her steel claws at each rider swiftly, diminished their numbers one by one in seconds, launching herself up into the sky and razes the remaining ones with her flame.

A dragon’s fire is magic, she can control their flows and their targets at will. Cirilla was left unharmed and sitting on the sands with shaken form, looking up frighteningly at the dragon that a mere moment ago was sleeping beside her.

“You…you are—” Cirilla stuttered when Saskia is transforming back into her human form.

“Looks like we would have a long night.” Saskia exhales through her nose and approaching Ciri.

[ Gwynbleidd ]

He’s breathing in and out calmly, preparing himself for another show. Sword in hand and whirling around with practiced grace, his white-hair tied tightly behind his head to prevent his opponents to gain any advantage.

He cannot remember how long he has been fighting in the ring, only that one day he woke up in the infirmary and the owner was sitting beside him, her pretty face intoxicated him.

He fought many warriors since that day, at night the owner; Meenah, would welcoming him in her chamber to congratulate his winning. They would be drowning themselves for hours in intimacy and one another.

He does not know why he seems to be stronger than most whenever he fights them;

He could easily break bones and necks with his bare hands.

He could endure the fight longer.

He can hit harder.

Move swifter.

They’ve never told him why but he can guess; he’s different.

His eyes are like those of a viper’s and he could see in the dark.

He has milky-white hair but felt no older than a man in his prime.

Scars that adorned his body indicated another lifetime he seems to be forgotten.

“The White Wolf!!!!” the announcer shouting his moniker out loud via the voice amplifier.

The crowd cheers and calling his name, White Wolf, such a stupid name.

He donned the mask and walking out with a raised sword, earning deafening screams of excitement from the audiences.

They called his names over and over again, encouraging the champion as he swirls around to greet all of them. His eyes caught the sight of an alabaster-skins and ashen-haired woman clads in Tiger’s pelt and chainmail; her emerald eyes looked at him, his inside flutters a bit at that.

“ _Ninnau_ i _éigean_ i _an yeá ymladda_ i _! Ess_ i _ninnau_ i _neén_ i?!” the announcer roared into the amplifier in Zerrikan and then he continues in accented Common “Gentlewomen and men across the seas and the mountains have come here to witness such a spectacle of the legendary _Gwynbleidd_! Today! Our champion will fight a dragon!” With the finishing sentence, a gate rolled up, revealing the greenish-golden dragon.

“A god versus a Mutant! Would our savior win, or would our champion spill the blood of divinity? Bet reasonably, folk! Don’t want any of you to go back home empty-handed.” The chubby man finished with jokes that some of the audiences do not find amusing.

[ Cirilla ]

Ciri’s been fidgeting on her spot among the crowd, looking down at the center at her witcher.

Saskia led her to this Valley a couple of days ago, after searching for him all day they’ve come across the Arena and that’s when she saw him.

He was fighting with three opponents at once, two female and one male fighters. Only to be defeated by the hands of her witcher in a quite spectacular fashion. But before she could do anything else, guards have been taken him inside the estate overlooking the ring.

Saskia asked around and got told that he arrived her weeks ago and been fighting in the Arena ever since.

The Dragoness was the one that came up with the idea of dethroning him so that they could require a private meeting with the famous Gwynbleidd; Champion of the Arena of Kohnossus.

…

Saskia approaching the witcher slowly, gauging up the famed monster’s hunter in front of her. He has a built of an athlete with a decent amount of muscles and ripped physique, his leather armor presents the map of scars to her sharp eyes. But most disturbing should be those penetrating wolf-gazes he has locked onto her since the revelation of his opponent.

She remembered, from the time when she was little, that Villentretenmerth would tell her a tale of a golden-hearted witcher who helped protect her and her mother’s corpse. And when she was assigned to help the said witcher’s destiny, she was thrilled to repay his kindness.

But now as she is face to face with said witcher in the ring of the Arena, she couldn’t help it but be shaken with anticipation of fighting with him; if a story that her father told was true, THIS will be a hard fight.

The Witcher has launched off his position with speed, moving around as blurred images with his inhuman agility. Saskia’s eyes almost got him too late as he neared her jugular vein in a split second, aiming the tip of his steel at her neck.

Saskia quickly spins herself and bashing him with her paw, retracting her claws as to not fatally harm her friend’s witcher. But to her surprise, Geralt flexing his body with monstrous contortion and shot _Aard_ to countered her incoming swipe. Saskia growls in pain as she felt his sharpened steel cutting into her flesh.

As instinct kicked in the Dragoness whipped her tail at the witcher and Geralt was quick to cast _Quen_ over himself before her muscled apparatus collide into him.

The shield shattered as soon as the propelled body of the Witcher hits the wall of the ring. The Dragoness reeled herself in and briefly looking up at the stadium and sees Ciri’s concerned yet not terrified face, and she soon knows the reason when Geralt’s steel flying straight towards her.

The blade lodged into her shoulder from the powerful throw and making the Dragoness howled in agony. The Witcher doesn’t waste any time as he runs with full speed straight at the howling beast, jumping and rolling to avoid any attacks from the wounded drake, scaling Saskia’s towering form to dislodged the steel and with inhuman swiftness, he cut another two deep gashes into her back and her wing’s base.

Saskia wailed and limping her gargantuan body away from the dangerous witcher.

‘I’m sorry.’ She uses telepath with Ciri and gathering her inner Chaos, and shooting a valley of flame out of her mouth.

…

Ciri cries in panic at the scene in front of her. Tugging her sword tightly and making her way through the cheering crowd.

She jumped down into the ring and approaching Saskia.

“What the hell is that! You were supposed to winning a fight, not kill him!” The ashen-haired girl shouts angrily at the dragon in front of her.

‘I lessened the strength of the flame, Cirilla! At worst he would only have a small burn.’ The Dragoness chided her but their supposed conversation died down as the flame subside, or more accurately; been absorbed, and showing the witcher standing inside a spherical shell of blue energy of _Quen_. Geralt’s ambers glowing menacingly as he reeling his right hand and quickly shoot a powerful _Aard_ out of his outstretched palm.

‘Or not!’ Saskia yelps in telepathy and Ciri braced herself for the gust of wind coming from the witcher’s sign.

Geralt has disposed of his _Quen_ and looking alternately between the two.

But what is the worst thing she could make out right now?

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Without so much time to think, Ciri has been forced to cross her silver with Geralt’s steel as the latter plunged the sword at her in his inhuman speed.

“Geralt!” Ciri tries to call out his name but his strikes were too fast that she could barely deflect them in time. His fighting style is pretty much the same but his increasing speed and murderous intents are pushing her into a corner, figuratively, she felt like another monster that was unfortunate enough to be hunted by the famous White Wolf.

Her responses and reaction come as instinct rather than intention. Geralt flooding her defenses with his precision cuts and slices and punctures, occasionally bashing with his pommel and punching her with a fist.

Ciri blocked most of them, but due to the witcher’s superior strength and skills she does receives some bruises and cuts where there’s no armor to provides protections. Saskia intervened as she took Ciri in her giant paw and getting her out of the way of Geralt’s arc of steel. Throwing the ashen-haired girl away from the fight.

The Dragoness’ claws collided with the Witcher’s steel and they fall into the high-speed fight again.

“Geralt! Geralt, it’s me!” Ciri yells from her position at him, but the Witcher heed no words from her as he continuously strikes the dragon and countering each swipe of claws and snaps of the jaw.

Ciri took the medallion off her neck and throwing it at the Witcher, it collided into the White Wolf’s forehead, miraculously, and made Geralt staggered a bit. The white-haired witcher bent down quickly to grabs the medallion off the ground and inspecting it.

[ Gwynbleidd ]

Dizziness filled his brain and flood of emotions swirling inside, strange and unfamiliar memories rushed inside his mind and thumping his heart as he gazes upon the snarling wolf-head silver medallion.

‘ _There…_ ’ the stranger’s voices ring in his ears and the air was heavy with a distinct scent of Lilac and Gooseberries with shuddered breathes and moans. Making his movement slowed down at the confusing feelings that rush through him.

‘ _Get off me! don’t_!’ a wailing of a girl whimpered out as his vision zooming in and ended up plunging his sword into the rapist’s neck, showered the terrified girl in blood ‘ _Go away_!’ a terrified girl scooting away and throwing up her stomach contents.

‘ _Mutant_!’ flashes of men brandish their weapons at him made him reeled in terror and hurts.

‘ _Get up and fight, you bastard_! _Master Enokh will tend to your wounds after_.’ A stern voice of intimidating man chides him and making Geralt perplexing with terror.

‘ _See you on the other side, Gar_.’ A flash of black-haired boy grinning tightly at him before they would enter the darkened cave.

Deafening screams filled his ears and phantom pains shot through his body, feel like his inside has been melting down and reform over and over again. The Witcher was now thrashing on the ground.

‘ _Ciri…_ ’ the softer and distant version of his voice calling out someone’s name, someone he couldn’t recall but evoke something inside him.

Flashes of emerald doe eyes and ashen tresses circling him, the surrounding sounds of cheers and shouts were silenced by a calling of his name, in a soft and loving voice of someone so important to him that he could not remember a face, only her scents.

The scents that have been emanated from the ashen-haired girl he almost killed recently, the same that standing with pleading and teary eyes from the side.

“Geral—” her calling was cut short as he felt his body flew off the ground by the Dragoness’ muscled tail, the world shut off from him but the scents of her are still lingering inside his mind.

…

He came to inside the suite, luxurious one and laying on the fluffy bed.

The big bruise on the front of his body is starting to fade, his aches and knots dissipating away as he tries to recall the event prior; he fought with a dragon, that’s insane enough for one’s life but then the ashen-haired girl threw a medallion at him and memories rushing in.

He lifted himself to a sitting position, looking around and finding no one else in sight. He was dressed in only his tight pants and a cool breeze rushing in from the opened windows. Making goosebumps prickles over his exposed skins.

He honed his hearing and catches a conversation in front of the closed door.

‘ _I’ll be giving you only an hour_.’ The familiar voice of Meenah spoke.

‘ _I think that’s all we need_.’ The voice of someone retorted back and footsteps receding downstairs.

The door creaks open and he’s been greeted by the ashen-haired girl clad in her usual armor and another blonde that has faded cuts across her forehead, the two approached the bed and looking at him with purposes.

“Geralt…” the ashen one spoke softly and stirs something inside him, but he couldn’t quite place her face anywhere because he can’t remember anything.

“Who?” He asked out in curiosity, the name from her lips doesn’t ring any bell.

The girl looked taken aback by his cold demeanor towards her. She is looking straight at him and searching his face, for what, he doesn’t know. She’s reaching her delicate hand towards his face and Gwynbleidd reeled away from her invasive action.

“Geralt, don’t you remember me?” her question came out with contempt and anticipation while her pretty face contorts a bit in grimaces at his elusive mannerism in her proximity.

“Who is ‘Geralt’? my name’s Gwynbleidd.” The former champion inquiry laces with so much confusion and irritation. Annoyance evident on his expression and his amber eyes held no trace of warmth. He saw a sight of a shattered heart after he said the next sentence “Who are you?”

Ciri has to bite her inner bottom lip to stifle a sob. The coldness in his eyes, the rejection emanates from his reaction to her trying to touch him, and that he doesn’t remember who she is are making her inside crumbling bit by bit.

She trailed her eyes on his familiar face, savoring anything that is him, noting many changes that occurred in their separation.

Small new cuts have been added to his grizzled face, but luckily nothing too dramatic.

There is a new long gash on his chest, gauging from the formation, it was from a bladed weapon.

The angle of his left arm was odd, his left leg was no better as even when he is sitting on the bed right now, he’s sitting uncomfortably due to his broken limbs the last time they’ve seen one another. She can tell as she’s recalling the fight that she recently had with him that Geralt wasn’t in his prime anymore, he struggled when he moved around and most of his graceful and swift strikes were changed into powerful and heavy swings.

She reaches her hand towards him again, this time Geralt doesn’t shine away from her anymore. He sits still and saw her closes the distance between them slowly from uncertainty. She is now sitting on the bed in front of him, scooting herself a bit into his rigid and anticipated form.

Her soft pads grazing lightly over his skin and trailing the pattern of his scars, a surge of emotions hitting her hard and Ciri is whimpering softly at the contact of their skins.

She's losing the strength to holding herself back as she applies more and more pressures into her touches, desperately searching for any kind of remembrance but met with none. Her other hand came up and cupping Geralt’s jaw, looking into his cold-amber orbs with her pleading and teary eyes.

Saskia excused herself out as soon as Ciri has climbed onto the bed with the Witcher and seemingly lost in their secluded world.

…

“I have been searching for so long…” Ciri whispers as her hands caressing his cheeks and tracing his signature scar that starts from over his left eyebrow and ended in a crescent near his left ear. Geralt’s breathes came out ragged and short from the intensity of her loving touches and the intoxicating scents enveloping his nostrils and left his senses numb from anything else.

He starts tracing the outline of her petite and firm muscled body out of instinct, feeling up her soft curves with his calloused hands. His heart racing up via the moans that escaped the girl’s lips. As instinct came over him, he pulled her flushed against his body and made the girl yelps in surprise as her firm breasts collided with his muscled chest and the ferocity of his action.

“I don’t know who you are,” his growls vibrates her skins and sent shivers down her spine, Ciri unintentionally writhes on his laps and excitement shot through her body as she felt his hardening member grinding against her wet and clothed folds “but somehow, these,” his hands roam around every inch of her body and his bearded jaw grazing the smooth and sensitive skin of her neck “felt so right.” He planting wet kisses on her supple neck.

“You are Geralt of Rivia,” she crooned out between her ragged breathes from the Witcher’s masterful touches that sent goosebumps across her skins, tangled her fingers into his loose white-locks and scratching his scalp slightly, just the way she remembered he liked “you were raised at Kaer Morhen, by a witcher named Vesemir.” Her light whispers coaxing him to not loosen the embrace, their breaths mingled “You became a witcher, known as The White Wolf across the whole Continent.” Her tantalizing voices reached his ears and Ciri felt Geralt’s effort at ravishing her neck has been increased.

Ciri shifts on his lap and circled her arms around his neck, exposing her collarbone to him and Geralt was happily obliged. He nibs and licks at them with murderous intent, aiming to kill with nothing but sensations of his teeth and tongue on her skin.

“There are songs and poems depicting your heroic adventures, composed by your very best friend named Jaskier. You met him in the border of _Dol Blathanna_.” Ciri’s melodic tune soothing the witcher as they are slowly laid back on the mattress. She assumed her usual position and propping herself by her elbows on his broad chest, feeling his calloused hands groping and kneading her buttocks firmly. Ciri helps Geralt get rid of her outer jacket and blouse, exposing her milky tanned skins to his hungry eyes. She let out a soft moan as the Witcher lifts himself a bit to kiss the valley of her breasts and trailing his wet lips down to her navel.

“Sounds…annoying.” The Witcher whispered into her belly and Ciri couldn’t help but let out a fit of giggles.

“Not all the time. He is funny and sincere and very smart despised his façade of a moron.” Ciri chirps her praises for the bard with shorten-breathes as the Witcher’s callouses are making a trail of fire from her backside towards the underside of her breasts.

The ashen-haired woman taking one of his hand to her lips and sucking his middle finger with lust and passion reverberating through both of their bodies, made the Witcher’s eyes turned feral and animalistic growls of a heathen animal escape his throat.

“Without him, you wouldn’t be at my mother’s wedding.” Ciri laid flat against his muscled body and guiding his hand to her core, mewling softly and adoringly as the Witcher’s finger grazes her budding nerve.

“How?” the question indicates towards her age and his, the difference in prominent but should not be unnatural like that.

“Prolonged lifespan, as a witcher you can live for centuries.” Ciri answered him as she planting a kiss on his chin while biting his flesh as the Witcher’s middle finger penetrates her entrance.

A sense of familiarity washed over them both as their bodies rocked with synchronic rhythm to their private and secret music of longing and passion.

“And then what?” he requested and give her eager lips a deep and passionate sealing.

Ciri savored the moment with joyous tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, before answering his curiosity “You saved my father’s life and after he insisted on paying a life debt, you invoked the Law of Surprise.”

“What’s that?” His gravel voices vibrating through her body as he whispered into her neck, on the location of her pulse as if intend to send them to her heart.

“An ancient magic.” Ciri recalling the lesson she has taken while learning under the wings of Yennefer “It binds one’s fate to another’s. The ‘ _Give me that which you already have, but do not know_ ’ kind of thing.” Ciri gave a dramatic shrug and elicited a chuckle out of Geralt.

“That’s stupid, I should’ve asked for money or gold.” Geralt ridiculed his past-self but got his jaw cupped by the sterned face ashen-haired girl.

“You didn’t want anything at first, you are noble just like that.” Ciri clarifies and rubbing her thumb across the scar on his bottom lip “You don’t believe in fate or destiny; you were about to walk away with just a ‘ _thank you_ ’ as payment when my father insistence got you.” She smiled sadly at the memory of the tale told by Eist “You've mockingly invoked it and then found out at the same time that my mother was pregnant.”

She lifted herself over his erection, grazing the tip with her moist and slowly devouring the witcher inch by inch in a sluggish and agonizingly slow pace, making the white-haired mutant thrusts with desperation and a sound of whimper escapes his mouth.

Ciri let out a satisfied exhale and starts rocking lightly back and forth, moaning in sync with Geralt at the perfect sensation of their joined beings. “We were bound together.” Ciri crooned out between Geralt’s thrusts with stuttering breathes “But you’ve never come to take me for fifteen years.” Geralt let her take the rein and she rides him properly with a frantic pace.

“Okay I get it now; I’m stupid.” He joked between grunts and growls as Ciri seems to swallow him deeper and deeper.

“And a coward too.” Ciri playfully scolds and jabbing a finger to his nose, Geralt tries to bite it. They sped up their pace and reached orgasms together.

“But…?” Geralt, he supposes at least he should take the name, sensed an underline and asked out after they have collapsed to one another’s sides.

“People linked by Destiny will always find each other.” Ciri slurred out and snuggled into his side, laying her head on his shoulder and sighs with content when Geralt enclosed his arm around her back. Geralt mulled over the stories and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let get to the last Act of this sequel.  
> ..  
> I intended to make a trilogy.


	10. Aen Hen Ichaer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is desperate for a way to lift the curse on Geralt.  
> The White Wolf struggles with the reality that he has another life before all this.  
> The Fox needs the girl's power to complete his task.  
> And The Hunt is closing on their tails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy.

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Aen Hen Ichaer.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

[Before the third Conjunction of Spheres]

“Lara!” Avallac’h called out to his betrothed and coiling a trinket in his hands, at the back.

“Crevan…” Lara Dorren’s nightingale voices call out for him from somewhere inside his laboratory.

“Come now, don’t keep me waiting. I have many kinds of research left to do.” Avallac’h pleading her and heard a fit of snickers came from the inner sanctum. He trailed the sound deeper inside and found the silver-haired beautiful elven sage at the altar.

Her striking emerald eyes looking at him with giddy excitement, a device in her hand radiates strong pulses of magic.

“I did it! The navigation device that you’ve been whining about since the first day!” Lara’s cheerful attitude contrasting with her talents and possessed knowledge of Aen Saevherne. He finds them quite endearing and annoying at times, which must be one of the reasons he has fallen in love with her.

“Impressive.” He approached her and taking a look at the navigator.

“You just need Sanguine crystal instead of Valinor diamond, I was at _Sanguis Terra_ a moment ago.” She casually told about her dangerous adventure in the Vampire’s sphere to him, making Avallac’h squints his brows in disapproval.

“That was reckless, Lara. You could have been hurt.” His stern voices only earn a giggle from her.

“Your friend, Caligula, granted me diplomatic immunity. No vampires would dare to hurt their king’s friend.” She said casually and skipping around.

“You are quite comfortable with abusing the power you possessed.” Avallac’h chided her playfully.

“My connections as a sage, or are you talking about something else?” Lara inquired as she reached another uncompleted device from the shelf, fidgeting with it for a while then it starts to live, projecting a likeness of blueish robed woman knelt in front of a bucket-thingy that chirps and inserting some kind of a dish into it. She snorts at the device and puts it back on its spot; Avallac’h tends to travel around the multiverse and retrieves trashes for centuries.

The Fox takes a cylinder device up from the shelf when he’s standing beside her, its cord connected with a pack of a power source.

He pushed the switch and a blade of plasma springs to life, produces whooshing sounds whenever he slightly whirling it around; the energy blade shines a greenish light on the walls and them both as two sages marveled at the weapon. Not long after, the power runs out and the blade vanished quickly with a sound of ‘whoosh’.

“Where did you got it from?” Lara questioned him as she took the weapon in her hands and inspecting the craftsmanship; rough and unsophisticated by all means for the handle and engraving but the mechanism of the plasma blade is fascinating.

“Another galaxy. Far, far away and in constant wars. I retrieved this…lightsaber, as stupid and inaccurate as it sounds, from a warrior there, his name was…Luke? Or something.” Avallac’h replied with bored expression at the inaccurate term to described many things he found in that galaxy, still grating his nerve to this day.

“Should have called them plasma-saber,” Lara interjected and Avallac’h nods along.

“I tried to tell them, but some man named Gorgea insisted on calling them lightsabers for some unknown reasons.” He shrugged and led Lara out of the sanctum.

After they’ve reached the entrance of his lab, Avallac’h side-glancing at her and saw the smiling face of Lara looking back.

“So…more training?” Lara asked out with excitement at the possibility of spending time in another world again, she loves this plane and all but sometimes, it's just so boring.

“So eager, are we?” he playfully pecks her nose and Lara giggling out at his show of adoration.

“Middle-Earth?” Lara inquired again after the moment that _Tor Zireael_ appears in front of them both.

“Hmm…might be good to see Galadriel again.” He mused and got a slap on his shoulder from Lara.

The silver-haired sage concentrates and slowly contorting space and time around herself, picturing the plane of Middle-Earth in her mind and the portal enveloped them both, different than that which Avallac’h can open using the magic inside _Tor Zireael_ ; this is coming from her inner source, the power of the Elder Blood.

With a brief bursting of greenish light, they disappeared alongside the Tower of the Swallow.

[After the third Conjunction of Spheres]

“Lara, Why?!” Avallac’h inquired towards her with a broken voice that came straight from his broken heart.

His lover’s dying body encased in his arms, her ‘ _husband_ ’ laid beside them, lifeless from the blade sticking out of the neck, and Lara coughing blood while holding a baby in her arms.

“Keep her safe…do not let father get a hand on my daughter, Crevan, I beg of you.” Lara croaks between her dying breaths, wounds on her are so fatal that with all the knowledge he’s possessed as a sage could not save her life.

“…I promise. I give you my word that I will protect your legacy, _Minne_.” He whispered to her and bend down to kiss her forehead. Lara smile sadly and weak, reaching her hand to trailing his jawline lovingly, she kisses him for the last time.

“Her name is _Eate_ , a summer. She must be beautiful when she’s grown.” Lara cooed the baby with love and sadness that she wouldn’t have a privilege to raise her child, tears rolled down of both sages’ eyes as Avallac’h sensing her life force seeping away, he planted a farewell kiss on her lips and forehead as the light left her starry-emerald eyes, the ones that once projected only love and admiration at him.

He cremated her body and contained her ashes in an enchanted flask, intending to take it with him to the resting place of her choosing, a garden on the mountain back home. He leaves the body that once was Cregennan of Lod to rot and be salvage by animals.

The Elven sage took the baby to Redania.

The girl would grow into a woman.

Eate would bear a child named Riannon with the son of Queen Cerro and King Vridank of Redania.

Riannon would start a lineage of powerful queens and kings of the Continent, to continues Lara’s legacy.

With Avallac’h acted as a distant observant and occasional helping hands.

[Present]

The elven sage was surely the strangest sight to behold in the land of Zerrikania, so Avallac’h disguised himself with shrinking spell and glamour.

He searched for Zireael for a week now, but still come up with nothing solid as to which direction the girl has taken.

From what he can gather from the locals, the best bet he could take is to head straight to the grand temple of _Tor Dhu-Aenye_ for guidance from the high-priestess Adelah.

“There’s not much time.” He grumbled to himself and keep walking.

…

She wakes up alone in bed.

There’s not even a trace of Geralt been with her last night other than the memory of his touches and a red ribbon he often uses to tie his hair.

Ciri sits up and groans into her hands, rubbing the grogginess out and reaching for her top. She dressed and make her way down the corridor, looking for a sight of white hair or even Saskia. She passed by the training ground and spied many fighters who train excessively with or without a sparring partner, Saskia being one of them who prefers the company of an opponent.

“Oh, sleep well?” her question laces with sneers and suggestive tone, Ciri sighs in defeat and plopped herself down on the nearby bench.

“More or less, he’s gone before I wake up.” Ciri’s pouting makes the Dragoness chuckles a bit.

“Man…that sucks.” Ciri rolled her eyes at her friend’s commentary and sighs heavily again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ciri grumbled but due to her superior senses, Saskia got it loud and clear.

“I know, right? What kind of a lover bashing his woman like that, unless…are you two into some kind of BDSM or something?” her suggestive question has been said in Saskia’s usual provocative manner that Ciri had accustomed to by now, still, the curiosity is sincere. So, the ashen haired replied in the most appropriate manner known to man.

“Fuck you.” With a slight of coy on her face. Saskia feigned a hurt expression before shoving Ciri’s head playfully with an amused grin.

“It never gets old.” Saskia hummed and Ciri quirked a brow at her.

“What?”

The Dragoness pinching and playing with the ashen-haired woman’s cheeks to imitates a smile onto it “Your funny face.”

“Har ouu dhonn?” Ciri mumbles between her scrunched-up face and felt ridiculous at how her request sounded.

Saskia released Ciri’s face after a minute and taking the ashen one’s hand, walking deeper into the crowd of fighters.

“Where are we going?” Ciri asked when Saskia has led her through the third corridor, just how big could this place gets?

“Meet someone.” that's all the Dragoness is willing to give.

After the fifth corridor, they have reached their destination, facing the biggest bathhouse Ciri has ever seen in her life.

Many warriors and gladiators are using the vast pool together, chatting and relaxing around.

One of them looked at the two and beamed up, stands with nothing to covers her shapely muscled body as she strides towards them.

“Cirilla, this is Véa; one of my two mothers.” Saskia introduces them to each other, the Zerrikanian hugged the Dragoness briefly but lovingly and then shaking Ciri’s hand with a firm grip.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Cirilla, nice to finally meet you in person.” Ciri returned the gesture with matching strength in grip, noting that the Zerrikanian has an impressed expression on her face.

“Have you?” the ashen-haired woman inquired and shooting a stern look at the Dragoness beside her.

“Yes, that Witcher has never stopped talking about you.” Véa replied and makes Ciri’s ears perked up with confusion.

“You knew Geralt?” the ashen one asked and saw the Zerrikanian nods her head affirmatively.

“I was with him since Bhea, then we ended up here.” Véa replied and it made Ciri want to bombard her with questions regards to the Witcher’s amnesia, but Saskia interrupting her by herding the two for a bath.

…

“The ashen one,” Meenah mentioned when their afterglows have passed, laying beside the sitting white-haired witcher on the bed.

“What about her?” His monotone asked her with confusion and the Mistress of the Valley snorts.

“You left me alone all night, Gwyn, the bed was rather cold.” Her stern accusation falls short as the Witcher snorted back with ridicule.

“I could smell two or three different odors on the sheet and your body, Mea, don’t be too possessive; it’s ridiculous.” The harsh words hit her hard, but the accuse from Gwynbleidd is too true for her to even defense herself, she opted to just sighed with defeat.

Gwynbleidd gets off the bed and put on his pants, lacing it tightly and grabs the shirt from the chair.

“She left marks on you,” Meenah said while inspecting patches of hickey adorning his neck and nail marks on his back, Gwynbleidd only hums in response.

After Gwynbleidd has finished his outfit, Meenah got up and begins her makeup process and when the white one is about to leave her quarter, she let out an inquiry “Will you be joining me tonight?”

Geralt stopped at the door and turning his head towards her, but before he could say anything Meenah adds “Or would you rather be warming that girl’s bed for another night?”

“Is that jealousy I heard?” Geralt inquired with a mocking tone and shaking his head and out the door.

…

“So, that’s when we reached the Silver Canyon. Geralt and I were about to scale the mountain when the cold surrounded us.” Véa pauses to subduing her shaken hands at the memory of the encounter with the mythical wraiths “The wraiths came, clads in their blood-soaked armors and galloping towards us on their giant warhorses. I fought as best I could, girls, but they outnumbered us by ten to two and Geralt weren't as swift as I remembered.”

“His left arm and leg were broken before we came here, no surprises there.” Ciri interjection satiated Véa’s curiosity and the Zerrikanian nods along.

“That makes sense, however, due to his limitations he only took down four before the tallest one, I assumed it was their group’s leader, bashed him away like a ragdoll.” Véa has a nag for theatrics as she also imitating the scene with her hands “The giant chants something in Elder's tongue and then Geralt screamed in agony, fortunately before he could finish us, a group of Acolytes saved us both by banished those wraiths with their divine blaze.”

“Ah…dragon’s fire tends to be effective.” Saskia crooned in from her spot.

“We fought them too, almost got me if not for this salty dragon,” Ciri said with rolling eyes but a genuine smile plastered her lips when Saskia splash waters at her on the description.

“I should’ve let them kidnap you, chicken, or better yet burn you alongside those bastard ghosts.” Saskia’s and Ciri’s verbal spat amused Véa.

“And you won’t have a personal heater, you dumb; it’s ridiculous for a dragon to get cold at night. You held me so tight I almost die from asphyxiation.” The ashen girl threw a flower at the Dragoness playfully but fast enough for her target to feeling something. Saskia is embarrassed and her face redden quickly.

“It’s cold when the sun’s down!” The Dragoness tried to protest but Véa only giggled.

“Alright, alright. Are you going to listen to the story or not?” Véa scolds them as they were about to wrestle. The two stick their tongues out at each other before returning their attention to the older woman.

“The Priestess said something about an ancient curse that has been cast upon White Wolf; it originates from the time when the elves first landed on this world, millenniums ago, and there was no one that can lift it left on this world anymore, as far as she knows.” Véa finished with concerned glances directed to Ciri and saw the girl’s face darken profoundly along with a frown and a deep-in-thought expression.

“No one?” Ciri asked after a minute, directing her eyes to Véa’s direction and shrink down when the Zerrikanian shaking her head grimly.

At that moment the Witcher comes in with only a towel on his waist, he walked straight towards the seclude chamber reserved for him alone, as Meenah requested.

Without even noticing her actions; Ciri took off from the pool with only a wet cloth covering her private part and making a beeline following the trail of Geralt. The Witcher was about to get in the pool when he caught her scent from behind and turns his head halfway to give her a questioning side-glance.

“…Too crowded?” The white-haired witcher offers her with a knowing smirk and Ciri reluctantly nods. Geralt casually getting in the pool and lowering himself down, while admiring the athletic physique on the young body of…what’s her name again?

Without a word spoken, the woman confidently gets in the pool opposite of him, even put on a show of her assets for him a bit, enough to spur the fire inside and making him cough out a guttural growl unintentionally.

“You could say that.” she paused before shooting him a smile “Cirilla.” and introduced herself to him, offering her delicate yet calloused hands. Geralt shook it firmly and lingers a bit at the touch.

“Gw…uhm, Geralt.” He returned the gesture and lean his back comfortably against the wall, letting the water engulf his body and dwelling in Cirilla’s intoxicating scents that are ridden of fragrances or perfumes. Indicates that she lived as she looked; fighter and survivor.

He lingered his eyes on the map of scars; prominent ones are long and thin lines on her belly, claws mark under her right breast that starts from the front and trailing to her side that slotted in between two ribcages, and a nasty one that adorned her left cheek starting from under her eye and ended near her ear in a crescent. Cirilla seems undisturbed by his prodding gazes and just casually scrubbing herself lightly with a bar of soap.

“Interesting collection you got,” Gwynbleidd said after a long but comforting silence between them. Cirilla looked up at his eyes and produced a tight smile as a response. After a long pause, he continues with “I have them too but don’t remember any…” while outlining the ridges of scars on his body.

Cirilla chuckles with a strained voice and lifted her left arm, signaling for him to look at her. When he does, she’s coaxing him to take a look at his own and says “An _Ulfhedinn_ in Tormahn, you were almost lamed.” And the Witcher takes the information with piqued-curiosity.

The ashen-haired continues with the one on the pectoral “An _Ekimmara_ in Novigrad’s sewer.” When the Witcher grazes his fingers over the ridges he felt some kind of a phantom-pain as if the wounds are still fresh, numbs settling in afterward along with images of two men laughing and seems to be singing around a bonfire; one with dark-brown hair and another one with gray.

The next is a set of three claw-marks on the left side of his neck. After he touched them Cirilla said out lightly “A romantic Dance till Dawn with a Striga.” There’s a mix of adore and ridicule laced within the sentence. She looked at him and saw his perplexed expression, she chuckles and added “the Striga was a cursed princess, you didn’t want to kill her. So, you had to keep her out of the crypt of her mother until sunrise.”

He nods slowly and got flashes of a strawberry-blonde hair woman with beautiful teal-colored eyes, looking at him with joyous sadness and guilt. He felt his heart constricts at the sight of her leaving.

Naturally, he has to ask “Who’s the redhead?”

“Huh?” Ciri got a confused face.

“Strawberry-blonde, blueish-green irises, look so young?” He described her perfectly and sees Ciri’s face saddened with the realization.

“Her name’s Visenna. She’s your mother.” Ciri’s answer got him by surprise; he’d expected that woman to be anyone rather than a mother to himself, she looks too young to have a son his age, which should be about five or six decades according to Cirilla’s information from last night.

“So…she’s a witcher too? Should I say a Witcheress? A Witcher-lady?” Geralt’s fishing for a proper wording while Ciri giggling a bit at his attempt.

“No, no. She’s human.” Her answer is still not clarifying things for him.

“Then how…” his line of question got interrupted by Ciri’s reply.

“She’s a druid, a magic-user, she stops aging and prolonged her life via magic, unlike yours.”

“Which…?”

“Witchers were made through alchemy and magic, some would call it science. I didn’t know much, mind you, but to be simple; as a boy, you were given excessive training then when you were ready, they will expose you to the mutation process and you become a witcher ever since.” She paused to recall the story the very same one in front of her told once “Every part of them are painful beyond imagination; only three out of ten survived.”

“You knew so much…you a witcher too? I remember how fast you are yesterday.” Geralt asked and Ciri responds with a shaking of her head.

“I took some elixirs, but I’m not mutated. Just a bit faster than most.” Ciri replied and after scrubbing her neck, she continues “A sorceress lectured me about it when she found out, quite an earful evening I’ll tell you.” A longing smile tugged on her lips and Geralt felt a swarm of butterflies fluttering inside his stomach at the sight.

After another comfortable silence, the Witcher let his restraint off “You knew me well, but I know nothing about you. I want to change that.” He shifts while Ciri’s curious gazes bore a hole into him, “Who are you? The real you without me in the picture.”

Ciri collecting her thoughts at his request and keep silent for a whole minute, then says “Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, used to be a princess of Cintra until a year ago.” She saw his brows shot up sky-high “I have to survived alone, well with a bit of help from an elf named Dara but still, in the wild for about a week and made an appetite for rats and barks along the way.” Her commentary makes the witcher chuckle with a care-free manner, a strange sight to be associating with Geralt but a welcome one. She continues “I trained in swordsmanship under witchers at the Wolf’s keep, pretty good at it too if I may undersell it a bit.” She recalls the hunts Vesemir or Eskel or even Lambert took her with, various reminders came from those good times.

She shifts and presenting her back to him, showing a set of claw marks between her shoulders “Drowners. Got me by surprise.” The next one is on her right buttock “A Foglet, not my proudest moment.” She heard his deep growl as he surely is checking her rear, smirked at that a bit and spin around then indicates at the one on her belly “This one’s from an accident in combat training with Eskel, a witcher, I was too slow to react but luckily he reacted the way he did, else I would have been disemboweled.” She said with such casual that gives him a concept of ‘ _training_ ’ in his kind’s perspective.

The next one sped his heart a bit as she casually kneads and lifts her left breast out of the way to showcase the scar underside “A flock of Harpies gangbanged me, one of them left this…cute lines as I was chopping another, bashed it good with my steel’s pommel.” She notices the way his eyes lingered on her nips, amnesia or not her Witcher is still a hopeless pervert as always, a comforting line of thought to be honest.

Her hand reaches and grazing lightly over the mark on her face, the only one that made her feel self-conscious of all the disfigurements adorning her battle-worn body. Geralt waited patiently until she speaks again “A bounty hunter’s Orion. From the last moment you're still remember anything about me…about us.” Her sad smile squeezes his heart from the vulnerability that contrasted with her cheerful and strong personality, he felt the urge to hold and never let her go.

The two sits and chats for an hour until Cirilla got up and wrapping a towel over herself.

“Leaving?” Geralt asks from his position, eyes tracking her movements.

Ciri only nods in acceptance, and almost out the door when she stops and turns her head to look at him “I got some contracts left to do in the east district.” And without further explanation, she got out.

Geralt contemplating the recent events inside the pool, and how to respond to the feelings he felt for the woman.

…

“Where are you going?” Saskia asks as Ciri walked pass her and Véa, straight to the exit.

“Witchering about, coming?” Her question came out halfhearted because she can sense that Saskia needs more time with the Zerrikanian.

“I’ll pass.”

“See you.” Ciri waves her hand to them both, looking back longingly at the direction of Geralt’s private chamber and walked to the dressing room.

…

“ _So, you’re saying that this…_ ” She tries to come up with the name of the creature while the contract giver is waiting patiently “ _…Sobekh. Suddenly appeared in the river about a week ago_?”

“ _Yes. My Farrah_ ,” he indicates at the dying woman on the cot with broken voices and trying to compose himself in front of an ashen-haired witcheress “ _she was getting the water for us, neighbors found her being attacked by that giant croc_.”

Ciri taking in the details about the monster as much as she could, contemplating the plan inside her head.

“ _Please…would you help avenge my Farrah? I’ll pay you anything_.” The man’s pleading her. Ciri considering for a minute and says.

“ _Save the dinars for your kids, man, I’ll think of something_.” With that, Ciri starts walking away from the hut.

A figure followed her, through streets and corners outside of town. After a left turn, the figure met with the end of her hunting knife, lodged deeply under his chin.

Ciri looking into the dying woman’s eyes while the light is leaving them. Ciri lifts a scarf of the woman’s shoulder and met a symbol of a burning lotus.

“Fuck, they are here...” Ciri grumbled to herself while cleaning the blood and saliva off her knife, almost sheathed it when she heard a sound from behind. Turning back, she saw a rolling head of another one from Masyaph, along with Geralt whirling his bloodied steel lightly.

“Didn’t mention you are famous among the Hassasshin.” His playful tone plastered a sheepish smirk on her face.

“Who were you piss off?” his question comes next and Ciri taking a step in her prior destination, forcing the Witcher to follow her.

“Too many.” Is the only answer she is willing to give.

“It’s a long path 'till we reach the river.” He suggested and got a curious glance from Cirilla, so he adds “I ran into Fahreehm, the man who gave you the contract and saw these two stalks you.” He indicates to the two corpses of the Hassasshins.

“Oh. How noble of you to lend a helping hand, but honestly, I can take care of myself.” She dismissed the urge to jumped on and dangling herself on his neck at the moment.

“Clear as day, that. But you don’t always have to.” His soft expression melts her resolves a bit; he may not remember anything, but a true self of Geralt is still present.

Ciri said nothing more and just continues on her path, with the white-haired and equally quiet witcher in tow.

…

It almost feels like old times, when it’s only two of them in the wild tracking and hunting monsters.

The differences are that now she is the one who does all the works, while Geralt is bombarding her with questions.

“So…not all monsters require silver?”

“Yes. Most can be killed by conventional weapons but a witcher’s blade was specially-crafted so that some can cut through steel. Monsters of magical nature, or cursed ones as we called it, require the properties of silver to harm or cut through their enchanted skins.” She presents her silver to him and continues “The shape of the blade was design to better penetrates the thick hides and reach vital organs.”

“And I assume that this,” Geralt showing his sheathed steel, with a decorated brooch on the guard “is meteorite steel?”

“Yep,” Ciri answered dismissively.

Geralt trails his fingers on the texture of the brooch. When he looked up towards Cirilla he met with another woman; shoulder-length auburn hair and hazel eyes, her tresses framed her pretty face perfectly with a gush of crimson seeping from the wound on her neck.

The name comes and makes its way out of his mouth on its own “…Renfri.”

Ciri stops in her track and looks back at him, saw his fingers linger on the brooch on his steel’s guard. She reluctantly says “You remember her?”

Her hopeful expression crumbled as soon as the witcher shaking his head firmly “No…it just got out. Who’s that?”

“Someone you met. That brooch belongs to her.” Ciri replied and pointed at the object mentioned, Geralt’s confused face makes her want to sit down and telling him everything right there. But as Yennefer always says; all in good times.

“I killed her, right?” he fishes for the confirmation of his theory and Ciri’s expression is enough. He snorts and adds “Wild guess, seems like something I would do.”

Ciri dismissed the self-hatred she heard in his voices for the time being and keep on investigating the tracks.

Geralt falls behind as he too was looking for any indications towards the whereabouts of the beast, Sobekh.

“…you don’t mean it.” Ciri croaked out after they have reached the shoreline. Geralt pauses and looked at her from the side, seeing the ashen-haired expression as stoic as ever and her eyes never leave the strangely stilled river.

“You have to if you’re going to kill someone.” He replied grimly, looking at the same scenery as her.

“There’s this mage, Stregobor, he tortured and conducted experiments on her since she was a little girl. When she got out, she joined a group of seven rogues, until Blaviken.”

As the woman paused her story, Geralt keeps his silence until she’s willing to speak again “The mage tried hiring you to kill Renfri, claimed it was the Lesser Evil. Funny enough, that night Renfri came to your camp and tried to convince you of the same principle, allocating the Lesser one with killing Stregobor. You turned both offers down and she told you that she would leave Blaviken comes morn.”

At that moment the beast launched from under the water, aiming its fanged jaws at Ciri. The ashen-haired dodged gracefully backward and have the opportunity to observe the foreign species.

It reminds her of Saskia’s dragon form; much smaller in size and had a stout neck, limbs shorter and designed to swim rather than running on the surface, powerful jaws and muscled tail. The strangest aspect on it has to be the jewelry adorned its thick neck that fashioned in Eastern Zerrikan’s or the land of Rah’s cultures.

“Can we continue this another time?!” she asked out with sarcasm while frantically dodging any attempt at swallowing from the Sobekh.

“Good idea!” the amount of sass in his counter is comforting.

The two dances around with blades in hands, dodging, rolling, slashing and stabbing with a synchronic rhythm that surprised Geralt as how natural it felt to fight alongside the woman he met yesterday.

After an intense minute passed, Geralt and Ciri notice the same thing; the monster has an unnatural regenerative ability.

“We can fight it for days and make no difference! Magic is involved!” Ciri shouts as she parried another swipe while Geralt leverage himself with the whip of Sobekh’s tail.

“What do we do!?” The witcher’s growls come out harsher than expected.

“Can you trap it with Yrden?” she asked and almost knock herself on the head.

“What the fuck is Ehden?!” he swings hard on the tail, breaking the joint and rendered the thick whip useless.

“Your signs! Like when you fought us in the arena!” Ciri yells in frustration as she's trying to keep the distance between herself and the Sobekh as much as possible, at least until she can think of the solution.

She felt a tingling sensation when magic is in use both from when Geralt shot Aard at the beast and when she was near the exquisite collar of the Crocodile.

“The collar, it’s an artifact!” The ashen-haired shouts to the witcher, hoping he would understand. And he did, despite the awkward movements caused by his damaged tendons and limbs, Geralt swiftly avoiding and go to the collar of the beast. With tactical strategy he shot Aard at the underside of its jaw, pushing the crocodile’s head upward exposing the collar to him.

As if their minds were linked, he slots his steel to curled and tighten it for Cirilla, who has lurches in with such speed and swing her silver downward cutting the collar in half.

As soon as the artifact has been destroyed, the crocodile is shrinking down rapidly to the size of regular reptile, hissing at them and then ran away.

“That’s…interesting.” The white-haired witcher said out, pursed his lips and looking at her. Ciri countered with an exhausting chuckle.

“Ye—” she has been yanked away from her spot by Geralt’s strong grip on her waist, and heard a whooshing sounds float passed them and of his steel being thrown.

A wet sound of the witcher’s sword that struck onto the assassin’s chest reached her ears. Without a second to comprehends the situation, Geralt toss her away with a short command of “Duck!” and she complied. By instinct, Ciri reversing her sword to intercepted the weirdly-shaped wrist-dagger thing that aimed for her back.

In sync with Geralt’s action, she rolled out of the way as the wave of the witcher’s Aard soars pass her and hitting the assassin on the chest, pushing them off of their spot.

With continuous motion ingrained from her training, Ciri uses her right wrist as a pivotal point while flipping her silver in her left, spinning fast and make a cutting line that disemboweled the assailant. As a precaution of a survivor, she flips her silver again and drives her sword like a lance straight through the Hassasshin’s chest, puncturing the heart and then twists it forcefully to crush the organ and easily dislodging her weapon.

Geralt and Cirilla stood back to back, bracing themselves and honing their senses for any potential ambushes the Charred Lotus Hassasshins might have in store.

“Can you hear anything?” Ciri asked him in a hissing tone, Geralt shaking his head dismissively.

“Just silence.” He said after a while and drops his guard.

He turned towards the ashen-haired beside him; drenched in sweats and covered in mud, blood splattered on her face and her ashen tresses are caked with all of the above. But her mesmerizing eyes still shines through all the grimes, he lost in them for a moment until Ciri clears her throat loudly.

“Something on my face?” her suggestive tone makes him looking away with embarrassment. Ciri chuckles at the reaction and approaches the shoreline, using a rag to soak up the water.

“You better rinse them off now, Geralt. Else they would stay there for days.” While talking she multitasking between scrubbing her face and unclasping her armor.

Geralt admiring her body as it has been slowly revealed in front of him, deciding a bit and approaching the spot beside her. He gave her a side glance and unlaces his shirt.

“Is that really the reason, or you just trying to seduce me, Cirilla?” he asks and gets a snort back.

“As if I need to. You look at me like a starving wolf since the bathhouse.” She retorts but gave him a challenging smug.

…

Geralt silently praises whoever invented the bathing ceremony.

His hands traveling across Cirilla’s strong yet delicate body, scrubbing all the grime off her smooth and tanned skins.

Ciri’s also returning the favor by excessively taking care of all the dirty spots Geralt has.

The woman lifted herself to wrap her legs around his waist, sinking her hands into the mess of his milky-white hair to clearing all the knots. Crooned out as she felt his calloused fingers return the gesture to hers.

“…Can't believe I forgot these.” He whispers to her and Ciri planted a kiss on his forehead lovingly.

“Fates are cruel. But it’s not living if there are no obstructions.” Her quiet response quenched his inside by the amount of hurt presented within.

Geralt signaled her and submerges the two of them under the water, dissipates last remnants of grimes from themselves and emerge.

Her soaked features are too beautiful to look at, gleaming emeralds locked his ambers in place. She says the next sentence with finality “We should get back.” And swims away, leaving the Witcher to be confused and dumbfounded in the water.

“…Okay…?” His confused voices get to her and Ciri sighs deeply.

“I need a drink.” She heard his heavy steps approaching from behind, without time to braces herself she got spun around to face him. His arms circled her waist and his intense gaze almost setting her ablaze.

“…Be with me tonight? I would hate to sleep alone.” His pleading makes her soft as she reluctantly traces her fingers on the scar over his left eye; the one he got from a Cockatrice in Spalla.

“Won’t there be a problem? Named Meenah for instance?” her inquiry sounded dismissive even to her ears.

Geralt snorts with a chuckle and gave her an impish smile “Those were just sex; she knew it and I knew it. Nothing serious…but this?” he indicates at the two of them “This is what I want.”

“Why me?” is the question she’d want him to answer since the very moment he almost kisses her as they tangled up in the woods.

“Your scents,” he inhales and let that spreading and giving him warmth “your eyes,” he looked into them with the softest expression he has ever shown “the way you handled yourself,” he returning her small smile “your smile,” he kisses the lips that produced them “You.” Both of them sigh in contend and resting their foreheads together.

“That’s quite…strangely romantic.” She whispered out.

“Don’t tell me I was such a bore before.” He asks with hope but from Cirilla’s smirking face he got his answer, and groan.

“How the fuck was I manage to charmed you back then?” And Ciri giggling out at him, winked a little and took his hand then starts walking towards their soaked clothes.

“I still have no idea.” She quickly gathered her clothes and getting dress.

Geralt took the job of getting all the corpses away from the river’s proximity and after he finished, he got dressed.

…

“ _The monster has been dealt with_ ,” Ciri informed Fahreehm alone; she got a reputation to build anyway.

“ _Thank you, for avenging my Farrah_ …” the man said with such sadness.

“ _I’m sorry_.” that's all Ciri said.

“… _so, what do you want as a reward_?” he braved and asks between his sobs.

“ _Lunch and two mugs of wine, can you provide_?” she asks and yanked the Witcher out of the corner he stood in.

…

After finishing the lunch, Ciri coaxed him to take part in Farrah’s funeral.

They were cleaned and dressed in white garbs, standing in a circle around the makeshift altar of logs and twigs that have a wrapped body of Fahreehm’s late wife. At the center of the square located a local pyre for cremating the body, some locals have joined the ceremony.

“ _Me minne, esse te saov uniade aep feainn_.” The widow said his farewell and planted red petals flower on the forehead after his goodbye kiss. Two silver dinars have been placed on each eyelid and a golden mask covered the wrapped face of the deceased.

The twins walked in after their father with a beautiful sari in color of green on both of their hands, they placed it gently on top of the chest and chants in unison “ _Va faill, modron. Ninnau salah te aenye aep Zerrikanterment_.”

At the time Saskia was already standing beside them, looking sadly at the stand.

“I won’t roar out and burn the body for them, so stop forming your request.” The Dragoness said in an annoyed tone as she has spent times with Ciri enough to guess the woman’s body language.

Geralt stood in silence and observe the scene; the husband mourning his dead wife while their children are crying, and turning his eyes to Cirilla.

She watched the unfolding event with calm and collective mannerisms, not betraying her sadness if not for his heightened senses.

He took her hand and squeeze them firmly as a show of support, Ciri never takes her eyes off the ceremony but an appreciative smile tugged on her lips as she leans into his side a bit.

Fahreehm took a torch from the oven and with one final farewell, he tosses it into the pile.

The flame engulfs Farrah’s body quickly and burning her corpse to a crisp in a matter of minutes, due to Zerrikanian’s volatile mixture in use.

The crowd dispersing after each have expressed their condolences to the family.

“Zerrikanians believed that all life came from the great dragon. In death, they want to be reunited with her.” Saskia informs them as they’ve reached the tavern “Ale? My treat.”

…

“What about his mom?” Jaskier blurts out as Yennefer’s frantic pacing starts to grate his nerve.

The sorceress stops in her track and looked at the bard with ridicule “He’s what? Sixty, seventy years by now? Did you suggest I am to use necromancy on her, gods know where it was buried, corpse?” but the look on Jaskier’s face stopped her verbal spat.

“She’s alive and well, actually might not look older than yourself.” With desperate time comes desperate measure; the bard apologizing to his friend internally.

Yennefer’s stilled as a stump, contemplating the bard’s revelation and her eyes go wide.

“What!?”

…

Eredin groans as the salve licked his burnt fleshes.

The latest hunt was a disaster; he almost got the abomination through the portal when that blasted lizard banished them from the realm.

Dragon’s fire is potent and powerful magic that can harm his spiritual form as well as any of the Red Rider soldiers’.

“Sometimes I still wonder how did you ascend the rank of commander.” Ge’els’ mocking tone irritates him even more than the wound, the urge to strangle the viceroy is stronger than ever.

“All barks no bites, Ge’els! If you’re have something useful to do, just get back to painting your stupid portraits!” Eredin gritted out between hissings and growls. The Viceroy snorts with disdain at the commander of the Wild Hunt.

“Art is an expression of artist’s desire, but also a mirror for those observing them,” the elf calmly states “take you, for example; you viewed them as stupid.” The venom and mockery in Ge’els’ snide are prominent that even the medic couldn’t keep a chuckle in.

Eredin pushes the medic forcefully out of the way and stood eyes to eyes with the viceroy.

“You…” the verb laced with oozing venom and intimidation, that those of a lesser level would cower from; not the Viceroy Ge’els, who has stood firmly and returning the same amount towards his fellow noble “…are testing my patience. Keep it in mind, Ge’els, that you're still breathing because of your amnesty.”

“Is that a threat, Commander?” The viceroy inquired and add “or a confession of treason to his highness king Auberon?” the praetorian guards at each side of the elf readied their weapons and point them loosely at Eredin’s neck.

The Commander of the Red Riders gulp unintentionally and with a clearer mind without the fog of hatred, he chuckles, convincingly “Of course not.” And returns to his position on the cot, signaling for the medic to resumes her work.

“Good thing you know when to back down, or else there would be more casualties.” The viceroy smirk at the quiet elf and making his way out of the chamber. He stops at the entrance and says “Caranthir requested your presence at Tir Ná Lia. Said something about the heir comes up.”

Eredin glares dagger at the elf’s back until the figures were out of his sight, and curses colorfully that the medic’s cheeks turned pink.

…

“What is it?” Caranthir heard his commander’s cold voice and turns his head around.

“Oh, Commander.” The Navigator salutes but the elf got no time to waste.

“Get to the point.”

“Right…” the Navigator turns back and grabs the crystal off the workbench, spin around to presents the bauble to him “I have cracked the secret of the locating device. Now, even the slightest ping of that freak power will be showing here, and with my magic, we can pinpoint its location immediately.”

Eredin takes the device and inspecting it with excitement; it’s a globe in the size of a palm and has tiny swallow hovering on the surface “Impressive. Now we wait for that…thing to slip, and then…”

“I will prepare my speech for your ceremony right away,” Caranthir said with admiration and respect towards the commander.

“All in good times, my boy.” Eredin finished with glee and his eyes glow with anticipation “Soon, Cirilla…”

…

“Huh?” Ciri calls out between the drink, looking anywhere for the speaker.

“What?” Geralt said to her after Ciri returned her attention to them.

“I thought I heard someone…” Ciri whispering under her breath and shaking her head dismissively “must be the exhaustion.”

“Monster? Or this guy?” Saskia’s suggestive leer earned her a flying chicken bone that knocks into her head.

“I’m not a nympho, unlike you.” Ciri bites and Saskia kicked her in the shin under the table.

“Keep telling yourself that, it might be true someday, Greylocks.”

Geralt can’t stop his groan.

…

“You don’t know her name? I’m very disappointed, Jaskier.” Yennefer chides him while the three of them approaching a portal.

“Hey, I can’t read minds! He slipped about that one night after Regis’ hooch, that’s all.” The bard defenses himself and looking at his vampire friend expectantly; Regis only chuckles.

“Reminds me,” Yennefer demands while navigating the destination of the portal towards Tissaia’s “to not get a drink with you lots.” And she steps through.

The unlikely trio materialized in a chamber of the rector, whereas the said rector is taking a bath.

“Did I not excessively teach you to not portaled in at this hour, Yenna?” Tissaia’s cold and intimidating voices rung from the naked and submerged beautiful dark-haired in the tub.

“That’s irrelevant. What are you doing here, Yennefer?” the rector redirects her last question to her former apprentice.

“Do you still spy mages outside the council?”

…

At night the two stroll the street, elbows locked and small talking accompany their secluded bubble.

“…So, I killed those men because I thought Renfri would have ordered them to massacre the townspeople, while in fact, she realized Stregobor will not heed her threat and prepare to leave?” he recollects the tale from Cirilla as they walked past a jewelry stall.

“Yep. She came back to gather her men and about to leave Blaviken as she told you, but saw the bloody scene instead.”

“Damn…that’s horrible.” The Witcher growls with self-hatred but Cirilla’s reassuring hand placed over his heart, her head leaned on his shoulder.

“You cannot see the future, Geralt. You were worried about the innocent’s lives more than anything, so you acted on it; it’s only unfortunate that those protected by you don’t know that.” She softly spoke and rubbing a pattern on his chest to calm him.

Geralt keeps silent and tries to banish the flash of Renfri’s dying form off his mind.

“You protect the innocents; monsters and humans alike.” She said to him as much as to herself; the ghosts of slaughtering those Scoia’tael are still haunting her dreams and nightmares occasionally.

“Hmm…there’s a circus at Harvekahn’s market…” Geralt trailed off. He felt Cirilla’s posture straighten a bit at the mention, and when she turns her face to him her eyes depleted of sadness.

…

“I can do that.” She commented again after the performers did their stunts.

“I’m sure.” Geralt played along with amusement. Despite the boring lilt in the tone, Cirilla never takes her eyes off the scene in front of them.

“Child’s play. I could do better.” The dangerous stunts awed all of the audiences, including herself, but Cirilla still needs to puffs a little.

Luckily that she has commented in a hushed tone, only between themselves, else there would be someone disturbed by then.

“I always wanted to join a circus as a child.” She said with cheerful voices, eyes tracking the performer’s every move deliberately “My grandmama used to make a joke about that all the time.” She sighed with content and rest her head on his shoulder, felt Geralt’s hot breath washed over her scalps as his lips touching her skin briefly.

…

Ciri might admit that she likes this version of Geralt more. He’s carefree, talkative, and smiles a lot. Not that he was particularly brooding and optimistic all the time, just that he rarely projecting his joyous side in public.

Decades of living on the Path didn’t leave their marks this Geralt.

They were strolling through the street, looking at anything and nothing in particular while conducting small talks about the things he doesn’t remember.

“…he sounds like a prick to me.” Geralt commented after Ciri’s finished with her story about Lambert.

“Oh, he is one of the prickliest persons you could find.” She added with much enthusiasm and sarcasm.

“And this Eskel, you said he is my closest friend?”

Ciri nods and pauses for a whole minute, scanning the surrounding for any interesting stalls or goods, then she continues “Two of you were inseparable since childhood, and both were the only ones who survived the trials from your group. Some say; without your advanced mutation he might beat you easily.”

“Some?”

“Lambert and Vesemir, mainly the latter.”

Geralt snorts at that and his hand grazed over a lump in his jacket, he took out the object inside, a beautifully crafted silver-like chain that has an exquisite octa-star pendant hung on it, embedded with glowing emerald-look-a-like mineral. He flips it around and saw the engraving; _Me Zireael_.

“What’s that?” Ciri catches it off his hand and inspecting it, her eyes turned from curious to amazed and prickled with tears as soon as she makes out the meaning of the engraving in Elder Speech.

“Véa said I had it on me since before I lost my memory. I don’t know what that means; _My Swallow_ , doesn’t make any sense.” He said without looking at her, but when he does, he sees her sadden eyes trained on him intensely.

“Back when you found me after Cintra fell…after Jaskier led us astray for days, we ran into your friends; Filavandrel and his followers.” Ciri recalled the event in her mind “That sylvan’s a funny fellow. The Elf’s king greeted and invited us for dinner, and he told us a tale of my ancestor; Lara Dorren.”

They stopped at the balcony overlooking the downtown, citizens of Harvekahn continue on their lives through the night. Both Ciri and Geralt leaned their elbows on the marble rail side by side, looking out at the lively scenery below, then Ciri continues “He said that the elven sage, Ida, told him about me since the day my mother was born. Sounds crazy, but she’s a sage I suppose. So, the nickname was somehow stuck.”

Before she could say anything else, a foreign presence hit both of them. The Wolf and The Swallow brandish their swords, Steel and Silver, towards the approaching figure of a hooded man clads in elegant and sophisticated robe.

“Of course. Knowledge of _Aen Hen Ichaer_ is well-known across worlds.” The figure stops in front of them, at their swords’ reach and lowering his hood to reveal the feature of an elf; high cheekbones, narrow nose, fair-color irises and none-canine teeth full in his mouth when he smiles. He flicks his wrist and the overcoat disappeared into thin air; Ciri felt the medallion vibrates furiously when he did that.

“Who the fuck are you?” Cirilla growls ferally, she was sure that the elf might be one of Vilgefortz’s henchmen. The elf hums with annoyance and introduces himself.

“Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha. _Aen Saevhern_.”

...

“So, what do you think?” Triss spun around in front of the witcher, who sits bored of his life on the cushion.

“You tried at least a dozen, Merigold, just pick one and be done with it.” Eskel almost groans in frustration as the sorceress is shooting a death glare at him, as intimidating as the auburn-haired with cornflower’s blue eyes woman can manage.

“This is princess Adelea’s suitors’ banquet,” Triss said in a hushed and commanding tone, seeing Eskel’s eyes rolling annoyingly “as a court mage and her mother’s advisor I need a company to attend such event. And seeing that you owe me,” Triss paused to adjust the seam of her deep-cut neckline “I chose your company as payment.” She’s projecting a cute smile at him, fluttering her eyelashes.

The black-haired witcher groans under his breath and rubbing his face tiredly. He stood up and approaching her from behind, circling his arms around her waist “Fine, but no more dress choosing.” he said while helping her tugging the dress here and there.

“That’s better.” She crooned.

…

“How’s it?” Shani inquired when Lambert parted the veils of the medic tent, a lopped head of a Kikimora in hand.

“Smooth as a haystack, red. What do you think?” his quips come out with lesser venom than usual, she’s the one who saved his ass many times anyway. He placed the head of the monster on a table.

“Wounds need tending? Broken ribs or anything?” Shani asks in a professional tone while visually inspecting the young witcher all over.

“Bruises on the back, but save it for later cause I need a drink,” Lambert said and dropping his silver at the pole, stretching lightly then making his way for the entrance.

“Lieutenant Francs wanted to see you.” Shani shouts after him and saw Lambert nodding his head firmly.

“Witcher!” the private called out to him as Lambert walked past their group.

“What?” the dark-haired witcher replied as he stopped and looked at their direction.

“A bard is looking for you, he’s with the lieutenant right now, in the command tent.” The private said and grabs a bottle of schnapps and tossed it at the witcher “Been saving it for you.”

“Thanks, man.” Lambert gave an appreciative nod to the man and uncorked the bottle then down a sip while walking towards the tent.

“Lambert! Glad you’ve come.” The lieutenant greeted him with delights, the subtle touches are blinding to the bard’s eyes.

“Heard someone wanted to see me?” the Witcher asked out and saw the bard turns around.

“Indeed.” The bard said and shot out a hand to him “Viscount Pankratz, I was hoping to see you. Lambert.” The witcher accepts the handshake and shot a curious glare at the man in front of him.

“It’s about a certain white-haired witcher,” the bard clarified and shot the lieutenant a warning glance “I do believe, dear Francs, that we would like some privacy.” And the lieutenant was out of the tent.

“Must have some pulls over Redania, order an officer around like that.” Lambert noticed and The bard nods.

“My family is quite close with prince Radovid, but that’s irrelevant. As I said, Lambert, I was here regarding an urgent matter concerning the wellbeings of Geralt and Cirilla.”

“Who are you? And how do you know about Ciri?” his hand tugs at the knife as he questioning the noble.

“Easy with sharp objects, my friend, I’m not the only one here,” Jaskier said with a little smug as he signaling Regis to show up.

Lambert almost jumped off his skin as the Vampire, higher one at that, materializes beside the bard.

“Do not worry, young man, I’m merely escorting the count.” The Vampire said casually and charmingly.

He knew damn well that even with a silver in hand, a chance of surviving from Higher Vampire will be little to none without proper digestion of elixirs. So, he trusts the man’s word and brought his hand off the handle.

“To answer your questions; I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s best friend and I knew about the ashen-haired girl since her mother’s wedding.”

“Ah…you are the one that Pretty-Boy talked about a lot.” Lambert acknowledged the identity of the noble.

“Solely. Now to the matter at hand.” Jaskier sit down on the chair, with Regis act as a not-so-subtle bodyguard “Did you aware of a certain _coup d’état_ on Thanned Isle?”

Lambert searches his brain and answering with “Yeah…heard something like that a month or two ago, why?”

“Our dear Geralt and his Cirilla were there, but they were missing ever since.” Regis’s calmed voices informing him.

“What!? How?” Lambert sprung up from his seat and leaned on the table with a loud thud, forgetting the fact that an immortal predator is in the room.

“The HOW isn’t important. We might have a solution but in need of a certain medium that we do not know how to procure.” Jaskier said.

“Monster? You don’t need my skills if you have a companion of a fucking Higher Vampire.” Lambert snorted with confusion.

“No…we need a location or anything that can point us there.” Jaskier dismissed it.

“For what?”

“A certain sorceress’ whereabouts. One who gave birth to the White Wolf.” Jaskier’s bluntness perplexed the young witcher.

…

“Julian?” Shani’s voice gets the bard’s attention.

“Shani? What a pleasant surprise!” the two embraced.

“What are you doing here?” Shani asked and spy Regis lurking in the corner “And who’s this charming fellow?”

“Matter of imports, as always. And this,” Jaskier indicates to the vampire “is…a doctor; Emiel Regis from—”

“Nazair. Nice to meet you, lady Shani.” Regis bowed deliberately and greets her with a manner worthy of a noble.

“Your hand is rather cold? Fever?”

“Oh, dear. No, just a senile physicality.” Regis dismissed the suspicion smoothly.

“What business do you have with Lambert?” she asked the bard, taking her spot beside the witcher.

“Tracking contract. I learned from Geralt that one should consult a professional.” Jaskier’s slickness was phenomenal, Lambert internally praised the man.

Shani might’ve known him for a considerable period because there’s no convincing her with his well-crafted lie.

“Speak.” A simple and short demand.

…

“Do you think it's wise to let her know?” Regis asked as he and Jaskier made their way through the dusk-covered path.

“Shani’s a reliable doctor and friend. I ‘know’ she can be trusted.” Jaskier reassuring his companion while trudges through the muck on his mare.

“Let’s hope the information is correct,” Regis added.

“A druid named Visenna. Copper hair with green eyes.” Jaskier recalled the details given by Lambert recently “There are few circles left, I’d say we start with the Caed Dhu.”

“Then we might have to leave our faithful mounts at the next appropriate stable. My mist-glide will be faster.” Regis suggested and heard the bard groaning in defeat.

“I’m starting to believe I know the reason as to Geralt’s fear of teleportation.” Both laughing after a moment and keep riding into the sunset.

…

“How did this happen?” the mentor of Feline asked out towards the other two.

“Something related to mages, I’m certain of it.” Mentor Garth of the Griffin said out confidently from his spot beside Vesemir.

“Maybe. But the Conjunctions at this scale could be troublesome, my boys are only three and can barely cover the northern region.” Vesemir said as he rearranging the token on the map that resembles wolfs, three pieces of a wolf to be exact.

“Might be harsh…I could station four to aid you, Vesemir, if you want?” Garth suggested.

“But the Middle section is the most populated area of the whole Continent, Garth, we need every man that you can give to hold the situation.” Erion, the mentor of the Cat, spoke firmly.

Vesemir uses the pole to harvesting two griffins and arranged them “Two should be enough. Eskel and Lambert can work double, and Geralt,” the oldest one paused a bit, concerns tugged at his heart mysteriously but he dismissed the feeling “can triple.”

“Must be great to have an enhanced one as a disciple,” Erion said with disdain but Vesemir paid him no mind.

“So, I can spread my boys between Cidaris and Ebbing. Yours can secure the south.” In the last part Garth directed at Erion, the latter nods firmly.

“Summarize; Vesemir and his boys would cover Aedirn to the Blue Mountains. Two of Garth’s boys will be stationed within the north, while five others would take control of the middle section. Then all six of mine would be taking the south. Six, five and seven respectively.” Erion spoke with deep voices and sighs.

“Not near enough…” Garth’s worried tone echoing off the walls of the chamber.

“But it’s all we have. We’ll make do.” Vesemir finalized and took his swords off the table “Farewell, masters. Good hunting.”

The other two bid him farewell and then the chamber was darkened again.

“This year might be interesting...” Vesemir grumbled to himself as he about to reach his mare.

He looked back at the ruin of Cintran outpost that is now occupied by a caravan of Cat school’s witchers. They might be a group of ill-famed monsters’ hunters but now, he needs all the helps he can get.

The old witcher rode off and starts galloping, chose to find out news about his boys first.

…

“The exact words of the curse?” Véa’s question came out as soon as the elven sage finished his request.

“To lift a curse, one must know the wording that binds them. This one is no different.” Avallac’h said in his usual calm and collective tone.

“But I can’t recall those words!” Véa hissed out and pacing around.

“If you are a sage, shouldn’t you know about this?” Cirilla inquired. Avallac’h glances at her and scolds.

“Sages knows many things, but knowledge but be earned or gain through studies and experiments. Even the simplest task such as breathing required much more than you can imagine.” The sage’s tone is grating her nerves a bit. He continues after a full minute of digestion for them “I have interests in many fields, but curses are not one. I need to know the binding and then researches to be able to do anything about his condition.” He pointed at the baffled witcher that sat on the bed, looking at each of them helplessly.

“And we have to hurry,” Ciri saw the sage gesturing his hands in patterns and then a projection comes to life “this is the representation of Gwynbleidd’s memories. You can see the decaying.” He indicated for them. He speaks again “Sixty years' worth of memories has been depleted by twenty, relatively speaking, in two weeks. Next, he will forget how to speak, then to move, then to breath.”

“That’s…”

Avallac’h dissipated the projection and says “There are few, four or six, hexes that have similar effects; but each require specific incantations and artifacts to break their bonds.” He sighs “Inaccurate solution could resulting in death.”

Ciri stood abruptly and stormed out in frustration.

Avallac’h follows her and catching to her on the garden, the moonlight shines and makes her hair gleaming sadly.

“…Zireael.” Her nickname sounds strange on the elf’s lips. She turned to him and saw an expression she detested; the one she remembered was on Vilgefortz’s face before the trip that took both of her parents’ lives.

“What’s the catch? I think you knew a way to save Geralt. So, what’s your price?” Ciri inquired with stern voices.

Avallac’h smirks a bit and slowly pacing in front of her, looking up at the moon and says “I need your help.”

Ciri’s confusion intensify as Avallac’h has paused.

“If I lift the curse off your witcher, I need a promise that you,” he turned to her, locking his blue eyes with her emerald ones “will be training under me to use the gift you have and prevent a calamity.”

“Calamity? Hate to break it to you, Avallac’h, but I can’t use my power anymore.” She tries again to surge her power but nothing happens.

“About that…” the elven sage approached her with his race’s swiftness and touch her forehead with his index and middle fingers, closing his eyes and chants “ _Va fail…Luned_.”

“ _Farewell, daughter_? What kind of a sick joke is th…” Ciri’s retort cut short as she felt a familiar surge of power coursing through her veins once more.

Ciri chances a burst of power and releasing a shockwave of her greenish aura, glee came back to her as she blinks around the area.

“How?!” she asked the elf.

Avallac’h stops the spell and shot her a scolding glare, Ciri takes the hint and reigning her power.

“It’s foolish to use the power when you are still under the radar of the Hunt. Elder Blood’s power can be felt across the spheres, without proper training or helps from a powerful masking spell? You would be captured in minutes.” He paused and sighed deeply, then says “And to answer your question; when I sent Gwynbleidd to your side back in Tor Lara, I have rigged him with a binding spell. To block the connection between you and the Source.”

Ciri was baffled by his answer, she fists his collar in her hands and growls “You cursed me!?”

“Yes.” His reply comes easily.

“Why?” Her growls intensified.

“You must fulfill your destiny. The only way to ensure that is to get rid of your power.”

…

“ _Die Autem Resista, Incendio Corruperunt._

_Terrore Nocturno, Interficiens Animam._

_Adolebitque iram tuam a me: Hostis et demerso in igne._ ”

Avallac’h chants the wording of the curse in Sanguine tongue, as he used the speech of Vampire to rephrase the bind. And when he felt a magical click, he reversing the incantation quickly.

At the last word, Geralt’s world shut down.

…

Ciri lay her head on Geralt’s sternum, listening to his breathing and slowed heartbeats that lulled her to sleep.

Avallac’h’s bargain sounds fishy, but she has no choice. She would swim through a river of needles for him, as he would do the same for her without batting an eye.

“…Hmm…” Geralt hum deeply and clouded with sleep as he slowly waking up. Ciri’s hopeful eyes searching his, the love in his ambers eliciting tears of joy from her.

“…It worked. Damn, it worked.” His familiar lilt made her heart fluttered.

The ashen haired said nothing, just laying on top of the Witcher’s body and nuzzling the crook of his neck.

After a while Ciri forcing their positions to change so that she is underneath him, holding him tight and flushes against her smaller frame.

“You sure, didn't you like to be on top?” his question and doubt betrayed by his erection that has been hastily unleashed by Ciri’s nimble but shaking hands.

“I want you to hold me and never let go.” She whispered pleadingly to him and Geralt could do nothing else but to capture her sweet lips, giving her his whole being as the two of them are drowning in their bottomless pool.

Requests of love circling and echoing around the two connected bodies.

Silhouette dances of longing and lust plastered the wall, lit by moonlight.

They search each other’s being over and over again, flaying their hearts out for the two of them to see and admire.

He rocks her with the rhythm that has been loved, thrusting that filled with emotions, grinding that full of fear and despair, and moans that tying their hearts together.

The light shines brighter and brighter as their mingled breathes grows ragged and frantic, clashing of sweats and skins deafening their hearing, his eyes see none than her emerald ones as the force behind his thrusts increasing, her cries blend with his whimpers into a song that sounds beautiful in their ears.

Geralt bit her neck firmly as Ciri shudders beneath him and destroying the dam he has build.

“I missed you.” Ciri crooned out between their lazy kisses, Geralt put his hands on her waist and circles a pattern on her hipbones.

“That makes two of us.”

…

“Imlerith, you take the second platoon and go here,” Eredin ordered quickly “Nithral, take the fourth to here.” The commander indicated on one of the pings “Ge’els will lead the third here, and the fifth will follow Caranthir there.”

“The first platoon is with me. Anytime now, Navigator.”

…

“It was just me, or the air is chilling right now?” Eskel said to the sorceress amidst their slow dancing. Triss exhales and greeted with puffs of fog from her mouth.

The sorceress’ senses go haywire as Eskel’s medallion almost shot out of its chain.

“Keira! Grivale’s shield!” the auburn yelled out to the fair across the ballroom, the two systematically casting and channeling the powerful force-field and extending it outward to cover the entire proximity of the castle.

Loud thundering and ethereal wails accompanied the chilled air that circled the dome; like a predator looking for an opportunity.

“What the hell…?” Eskel whispered after the sight is clear as he peered through the shimmers of the magic.

A group of apparitions appears, clads in heavy armors from head to toe. Hound-like creatures scattered and surrounded the groups, snarling ferociously.

“Wraiths of Mörhogg…” the witcher growled out, breaking the compressed silver sword in a form of a necklace that Triss has enchanted for him. The full weight of witcher’s silver gains himself some confidence.

“I thought the Hunt was a myth.” Keira Metz whimpered out as the magic surrounding the wraiths made her insides churned in dread.

“Apparently not,” Triss commented and absorbing the chaos around her, fortifying the dome.

…

“Grabs my bag and get the horses!” Lambert shouted to the medic while parrying the blow from the wraith’s battle-ax.

Shani hurriedly gathers her satchel and Lambert’s, making their ways to the horses as Lambert covering her from the Hunt’s attack.

Soldiers fight off the wraiths as best they could, but the steel weapons in their possessions can only do so much. Soon, many falls like leaves in winter.

“Fuckers!” Lambert growled and surging all of his stored chaos out as a huge wave of Aard, knocking some of the assailants away and some even been banished.

“Up! Up!” he prods the medic to mount his mare and then climbed up behind her as her stallion died by the hound of the Hunt. The witcher instructed the redhead to hold tight as he spurns his horse to full gallop.

“But the boys!”

“Fuck ‘em! Worry about yours!” he chided her and sped up the horse, getting away from the massacre as fast as possible.

“Come on!” Lambert yelled as one of the hounds caught up to them and pounces, he quickly twirling his silver and cut its head clean off, evaded the momentum-propelling carcass.

“The hell’s happening?!” the medic demands with a feral tone as she felt guilt eat up on her mind from fleeing the scene and had to leave everyone behind.

“Fuck if I know…” the Witcher only grumbled in frustration and rearranging their position to better suit the long journey “Don’t fall, Shani, I’m gonna go breakneck.” With that being said Lambert zooms through the moonlit path.

…

Eredin steps out onto the pavement and directing his troops to spread out in search of the Abomination.

Zerrikania’s scenery at night always amazed him; it feels a lot like home. He hones his magical sense and caught the trail coming from the tower at his side. The Commander walks straight there, intends to get his hands on the girl.


	11. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't believe in Melitele, don't believe in the existence of other gods either, but I respect your choice, your sacrifice. Your belief. Because your faith and sacrifice, the price you're paying for your silence, will make you a better, a greater being. Or, at least, it could. But my faithlessness can do nothing. It's powerless."  
> "You ask me what I believe in, in that case...I believe in the sword"  
> \- Geralt to Iola, The Last Wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end is nigh.
> 
> When something ends...

**Torn.**

* * *

* * *

**Requiem.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Their sleep has been disturbed as Geralt felt a cold steel pierces through his right lateral area.

The ashen haired jolts awake at the sound of painful grunt, and sees the horrifying scene where the apparition that stood over her witcher has quenched the curved blade then dislodging it, and about to bring the weapon down on Geralt’s neck if not for a powerful blast of air from Avallac’h.

“Grab your swords!” He yelled and parried another one by his enchanted staff.

Ciri quickly unsheathes and arcs the silver sword of hers across another assailant, banishing the wraith in one cut. She shielded Geralt for a moment before the witcher grit through his pain and swing his steel to deflect the blow coming for Ciri’s blindspot. All that left to do are countering attacks and took these wraiths down as soon as possible, get dressed and tending to Geralt’s wound.

She cuts, dodges, rolls, and slices as fast as she could; her blows lack grace and precision but the frequency makes up for that. Geralt has been rendered a lot by the damage he took and the constant bleeding, he cuts at them a lot but his steel passed their forms as if he took a hot knife through water. He releases the hand on his wound and with all of his strength he casts the Yrden sign on the floor, circled the three of them.

The magical trap works its wonders, banished those that unknowingly steps through. But it can only do so much against the overwhelming numbers of the Hunt, soon, the sign shattered and they are overrun again.

“Cirilla, use your teleport!” Avallac’h commanded her with an urgent tone and desperate expression that rarely been shown. The sage took a bit off his surroundings and conjures a blasting shockwave that pushed the incorporeal forms of his kind away and locked them in a ring of the slowed flow of time; he researches on Lara’s gene for reasons.

“I don’t know where to go!” Ciri yelled with confusion while the greenish aura surrounded her being, ready to unleash at their master’s behest.

At that moment Avallac’h senses dread from the entrance, he turns and met with the sight of a nightmare, for those that were not familiar with the person under the armor.

Clad in skeletal-theme armor of darkened steel and underlined with red, crowned himself with a spiked skull helmet, the sigil of high-nobility adorned the left pectoral. The Commander of The Red Riders strides with determination, unaffected by the sage’s powerful magic despite being here only in spiritual form.

“Give me your hand…” Avallac’h’s requests came curt and laced with despair, his waiting hand hovered in front of her.

“So…you chose.” The ethereal calmed and collected tone of the wraith grating her ears and made fears gripping her heart. The wraith continues its stride alongside its verbal express “I warned you, Fox, that I’ll have your head,” the apparition draws his curved-sword, the pommel carved in the likeness of a serpentine and whirling it around for good measure before pointing the tip at them “or the girl.” At that, it launches at them.

Avallac’h curses and in desperation took both of their hands as he activates the power of the Elder Blood and teleported away.

…

Yennefer curses under her breath as the wraiths keep coming, and she nearly exerts all of her chaos.

Regis floats around in his giant bat-like form with a flock of angry ravens, supporting the sorceress and the bard in driving the Hunt off.

“I hate to be a bearer of bad news, but my knife’s broken!” The minstrel yelling out as he tries not to get stabs or cuts while protecting both the sorceress’ back and Callonetta, his beloved lute.

Yennefer spread her magical claws around and lifts several opponents in the air, letting the vampire and his hellish ravens take care of them. The sorceress conjured a portal and tosses Jaskier in using her last ounce of magic, looking at Regis and sees him swooshing down, swirling in mist and changed into his humanoid form. As the flock of ravens shielded their escape.

“Come on!” Yennefer called as she lingered at the mouth of her portal, waiting for the Vampire to follow but saw Regis stand his ground with elongated claws and fangs.

“I’ll hold them off, lady sorceress. Go now.” He said in such a calm demeanor that wrenching Yennefer’s supposedly stone heart.

“Nobody asked you to sacrifice yourself, Regis! Come now, we can get out of this!” Yennefer prods him but the vampire’s iron will not even falter.

“Their leader can track you; we knew that from our escapes earlier. At least I can give you times until the trail disappears.” He gave a smile, somehow comes off as reassuring despite the bestial features of his face as of now “I’ll find you and our dear bard after I took care of them, Yennefer. Go now.” Regis insisted and launched himself headfirst at the group of wraiths. Yennefer curses out in frustration as she jumps and closing the rift behind her.

…

Vesemir rolled away from the bludgeon mace that came down fast as lightning at the spot he stood in earlier, cutting a shallow wound on the attacker’s legs while doing so.

The giant apparition growls with annoyance and quickly retreating his massive hammer, ready for another strike as the old witcher poised the stance and ready for another dance.

“Stop skipping around and fight, Vatt’ghern!” The wraith shouts and sprinting towards Vesemir with his mace raised. The gigantic specter soars through the distance as if propelled by a ballista.

Vesemir having no problems dealing with the others as they appeared out of nowhere when he’s still riding on his mare. The old swordsmaster took them down one by one with a single strike for each until he crossed a sword with the giant’s mace.

The general, as he heard, swings the mace-like a hammer despite the enormous proportion of the weapon compared to its body. Without his witcher’s mutations and reflexes, Vesemir is certain that he would’ve been smashed to death already. Discarded the parrying tactic the witcher opted to counter without touching the mace, he dances and flows around his opponent like a current to a rock.

The wraith roars in annoyance as he felt a stab from the witcher again after another missed swing. The General yelps in surprise as the next slash from the witcher’s silver zooming in like a viper and took his helmet off.

Vesemir never wasted a moment or be overconfident when he fights, he rolled out after assuming that his strike was true and put a distance between them. The old master slowly circles the wounded wraith without a helmet, sizing his opponent’s courses of action for the next moment. The witcher’s eyes widen a bit, as the face of an elf appears to him.

“You are not a wraith.” That is all the old wolf can conclude from all of this for the time.

“No matter. You’re going to die here and now, geezer!” the next strike comes fast, but the witcher’s reflexes reflecting the weapon out the way as Vesemir adapting the elf’s momentum to his advantage; deliver an upward vertical strike dead on the chest to the neck. The apparition slowly disintegrates after that.

After a moment to breath, and to make sure there was none left at the scene, Vesemir sheathed his silver, grabs a physical helmet off the ground, and tracking down his spooked mare while grumbling to himself “Seem I might have to pay her a visit.”

…

Eskel scoots away as the wraith coming in, swinging its staff around madly.

The witcher’s hand found his silver in a nick of time and parried the blow at the last possible moment.

Triss Merigold shoots a lightning bolt at the wraiths that surrounded them, banished them for good and left the only one around; the one that seems to be their leader who is currently fought with Eskel in a gruesome and brutal duel.

With the knowledge she has about the black-haired witcher, Triss conjured a fireball and hurling them at Eskel’s direction, yelling his name to warn him about her intention.

The witcher countered another smash and rolling out of reach, shooting his left hand out at the incoming fireball from Triss and absorbing the chaos within. Eskel felt rushes of magic coursing through his being and channeling the power to shoot streams of _Igni_ at the wraith.

Caranthir grunts as he conjures a barrier around himself, but the fire still engulfs the rest of his troops and took them down easily. The Navigator exerts his special genetic power and teleported behind the sorceress, rearing his staff and aiming to bash the head of the auburn. But a tether from Keira yanked him away, allowing Triss to survive.

Eskel gritted his teeth and launches himself as a projectile into the portal that Triss quickly opened for him, the other end formed at the front of the wraith as Eskel rematerialized and cutting an arc of silver deep into Caranthir’s chest.

…

The cold seeps into her heart as soon as they’ve appeared on the snow-covered environment. Ciri doesn’t know much about interdimensional traverse, but she can tell that the world they are in right now is not her original one.

Avallac’h gathers himself and breathing in the chilled air, lifting Geralt with Cirilla’s help and quickly found shelter in an abandoned house.

The sage conjured fire and lights the oven, boiling snows into hot-water as he instructing the ashen-haired girl to prepare a spot for tending the witcher’s wound.

Urgency and dreads mixed with fears and anticipations rid any trace of cold off her body, the only thing she cares for now is to keep the heart and soul of hers, in a form of the dying witcher, intact.

“It’s going to be alright, my love. Stay with me.” She cooed the grimace witcher as she arranging his bloodied body onto the clean sheets, any move elicits whimpers and ragged breaths from the white-haired that’s squeezing her heart.

“…d-damn it…you knew I hate portals, right?” his joke sounds weak and requires more effort. Ciri gave him a teary smile and let out a whimpering snort at that.

“I’m sorry…” Ciri whispered apologetically to him but Geralt chides her.

“Not every horseshit happened because of you, Ciri. Only a handful.” He cracks a joke, that’s a bad sign from someone like Geralt. The ashen haired kisses the witcher’s forehead lightly as she applies pressure on his wound, a nasty and gaping wound from a sword that is now turning purple and have ices forming around it.

“Is he going to live?” the question left an acrid taste in her mouth, her hands red with her witcher’s blood.

“Provide that we’re not too late,” Avallac’h said with a tight tone and brings the steaming pot to them. He produces a needle and a thread then dip both to sanitizes, he instructed Ciri to open the wound “This is my elixir brew, highly toxic but with a tiny amount,” he said while getting a few drops into the Witcher’s wound, Ciri can make the sizzling sounds out amidst Geralt’s roars of pain as she uses her body to hold him in place “it will mends internal lacerations, stop the bleeding.” He tells her to sponge the blood from the wound from time to time as the Witcher can control his breathing again “All that’s left to do,” the sage presents a needle that is ready for operating a suture “is closing the opening. But first, in this case, it requires magic; Jericho’s sword is often coated with poison or enchanted with a curse.” The familiar way that the sage has left so many questions for her.

Avallac’h chants quietly in his natural tongue and a puff of blackened smoke comes off Geralt’s wound, the sage crushed it in his hands and hit his palms into the ground with a loud thud. The rim of the wound now looks normal and the bleeding has stopped.

“Now,” Avallac’h skittered the pot to the girl, seeing Ciri looking back with her brows knitted he adds “I will teach you how to perform a suture, listen closely.”

…

Eredin landed heavily on the snow and with no preparation beforehand, he landed with his face on the ground.

The Commander growls with frustration and lifted himself to full-height, observing the scene around and felt dreads grip his heart.

“That traitor…” the elf praised another elf and spreads his awareness around; nothing came back, either Avallac’h takes them somewhere or the sage is channeling a powerful masking spell. He sheathed Naga, his sword, and produces a trinket he got from the Fox’s lab.

“ _Caédmil, elaine. Va fail foilé. Adhart me aep te heart_.” The chanting rings echo off the scenery and a surge of magic engulfed the gull trinket. It comes to life and floats away in the direction of a distant abandoned house. The Commander of the Hunt grins maniacally under the helmet, drawing his Naga and making his way following the direction.

…

“Do not move too abruptly, let the wound rest for an hour,” Avallac’h said after he finished inspection of Cirilla’s handiwork.

Geralt nods a little and draws in a heavy inhale of breath, and he caught the scent of something alive outside the hut. The Witcher ignored the protests both from his wound and the sage as he springs himself to a stand and coiling his steel in hand, then says “That fucker is here.”

Ciri’s eyes go wide and whip her head toward the elven sage, and demands “How the fuck he followed us? Is he a mage?”

“No,” Avallac’h dismissed “Eredin Bréacc Glas is many things; A soldier, A politician, A maniac but not a mage. He’s talented in using magical artifacts.” Avallac’h is looking in her direction and shot her demanding eyes “You need to—”

Before the sage can finish his sentence, the Witcher pushed both Ciri and the elf down and forming an encasing shield of Quen around them when the explosion goes off.

Cracks forming on the Witcher’s shield and before they can do anything else, another bomb comes in and explodes.

She heard a blood-curdling scream of pain from the Witcher when his body hovering over her and shielding her from debris as the Quen sign shattered. His blood is soaking her as she could see many sharp and pointy pieces of wood punctured his body and some bricks knocking at his head.

“Geralt!” but the Witcher doesn’t fall, he stabilized himself using his steel as support and forcing his weakened body to fight the enormous amount of pain as Ciri tries to wriggle out.

“Avallac’h!” He mustered all he has left and called the sage “Get her out of here…” he gritted through the pains; from many pieces of wood that lodged in his body and the hurt that he saw in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare, Witcher!” she hissed out between whimpers, coiling his collar into her fists “I forbid it.” At the last word, her voices cracked and came out weak, almost pleading.

“It’s okay.” He’s pushing the limit and with the last drop of chaos left inside he cast _Axii_ on her, something he never intends to do “Go with Avallac’h, save yourself.” And he planted a farewell and possibly the last kiss they would share, steeling himself for the inevitable as he devours and slotting her scents and tastes deep inside his soul.

Geralt musters the last once of strength and pushes Ciri towards Avallac’h. The two looked at each other and then the elven sage nods, hurling the reluctant girl away from the crumbling building.

“But…we can’t…” Ciri’s iron will starts breaking the bewitching effect of the sign, yanking her wrist away from Avallac’h’s grasp lightly.

Sounds of swords clashing and swinging can be heard clearly in the silence environment of the dead world, but then something appears. Hellish blizzards clashes into them, knocking both off their feet as unnatural coldness seeps into their veins, felt as if it will slowly freezing their souls.

“The White Frost…” Avallac’h voices filled with despair and fear, as Axii wore off due to her stubbornness, Ciri flees from the sage’s grasp and running difficultly back the way they came and brandishing her silver thus making the alloy shines in the heavy snow.

Geralt’s blows lack so many things; strength, agility, fluidity. But his persistence when Ciri’s life is in danger keeps him going, despite many fatal wounds he has sustained from the Wraith, or rather a spiritual projection of the Elf Commander.

Next strike he parried it easily but lost his footing, then Eredin comes with a slash that puts deep gash on his sternum.

Another stab pierces through his abdomen, Geralt gritted the pain and grabs the sword tightly to lock his opponent in place while rearing his steel and lunged it with all of his might. The meteorite goes through Eredin’s chest but does no damage and the Elf laughs maniacally.

“Pathetic, White wolf. Sacrificing yourself for nothing.” Eredin’s pointing a finger at the direction behind him, making Geralt feels dread quelling inside.

“Damn it, Ciri!” he growled and with newfound strength, he manages to absorb the residue of magic from the surrounding, but the longer he takes he felt a strand of chilled tether tugging his inside.

The Witcher channeling the chaos and shot a powerful push of something powerful than Aard onto the ground, dispersing the shockwaves around himself in a spherical shape, pushing both the Elf-lord and his Destiny back away.

Then he enchants his steel with Yrden, something he rarely does for it requires titan amount of his magic, and strikes Eredin true on the elf’s armored chest; the enchanted blade elicits cries of pain from the tall warrior.

Eredin was about to return the favor when he suddenly stops as the gale of the Frost coming in. The Commander of the Wild Hunt flees as fast as he could via a portable device that Caranthir manufactured for his personal use.

Geralt got tackled by Ciri as the girl launched herself from the mound, both falling to the ground as thundering blizzards surrounded them.

“I told you not to leave me again, you fucker!” Ciri harshly slaps him “If death is the destination, then fuck it! I will not live without you. Not anymore!” Ciri’s fury died down as she collides her body into his blood-soaked one, holding him tightly against her smaller frame.

He has nothing left, sored, hurt, dying and weak Geralt opted to just lie there with the warmth of Ciri hovering over his numb body.

“They said I was meant for you…am I your destiny, Geralt? Say it…please.” Ciri’s pleading tone quenched his heart and he musters his dying body to encase her in his arms.

“You are more than that…Ciri…” his voices stuttered and Ciri tightening her arms around him, sobbing madly into his bloodied and tattered chest “…Much…More.” He kisses the top of her head and rests his face there.

Ciri can feel his breaths grew shorter and lighter by seconds, she couldn’t hold her tears in anymore as she pours everything into him and clings to his cold body.

“Visenna…” Ciri starts, intend solely to just keep him talking as long as possible.

“What about her?” the Witcher croaked out difficulty while running his hand on her hair.

“She said she know of a prophecy, one said that both of us will be fighting the White Chill.” She said and kisses his neck and his chin “if this is Destiny’s version of ‘fighting’ I will be pissed as hell.” She chuckles sadly into his collarbone, Geralt goes along with her in his shortening laughs.

“Destiny…”

“…Can fuck off. I know.” Ciri finished for him as they both laughing quietly among themselves.

“…I love you…” Geralt said in all of his sincerity, his whole being distilled into this single sentence.

“And I love you.” Ciri replied in contend, bracing herself tighter against the Witcher.

“...So…Let’s fuck Destiny together, then?” Geralt inquired as he encouraging Ciri to help him stand up, The Wolf and The Swallow stood side by side, readying themselves for a moment to break a sword.

“Are you proposing a threesome?” Her joke came easily this time as she supporting Geralt with swords in their hands.

“Absolutely.” He gave her a contorted lopsided smirk and then the two of them swings their Steel and Silver at the incoming force of the Primordial.

…

“Yennefer!” Avallac’h shouted the sorceress’ name loudly, after a heartbeat the curly head of raven tresses popped out the window.

“Avallac’h? What is it?” the sorceress asked but soon she found the sage teleported inside her room, startled all the occupants; Jaskier, Eskel and Triss.

“I need you at Kaer Morhen, it’s Cirilla.”

…

Visenna steps out of the portal to the tip of Lambert’s silver.

“Charming as ever, Lambert.” She greeted the young witcher.

The short-haired spits at her feet and sheathing his sword, spin on his heels and signaling her to follow.

“How is she?” the Druid start a conversation.

“Bad.” Short and simple, yet filled to the brim with hatred.

“Anyone else here?”

“Two sorceresses that Geralt used to fuck, one medic in that list, Eskel, Vesemir, and a sage.”

They’ve passed the gates into the long hallway, at the center located a cot that has the blueish body of the ashen-haired girl, surrounded by a group of people that Lambert has mentioned; tallest would be the elven sage.

“Thank you for coming, Visenna.” Vesemir is the only one who treated her with hostility, others just looking at her with mixes of expressions; hateful from Eskel, bewildered by the two sorceresses and one medic, calm and relief from the elven sage.

“…she’s the only one?” Visenna’s cracked and hopeless voices betrayed her calmed and calculated façade.

“Unfortunately.” The elven sage answered her and placed a broken brooch that used to adorned Geralt’s steel on the cot beside the ice-covered body of Cirilla “Him and Zireael drove off the Hunt and the White Frost, but as you can tell by the prophecy; Gwynbleidd died among blood and ice.”

“Well…a mother can hope, can’t she?” her retort came off as bitter and laced with anger mixed with sadness.

“So, you are really his mother?” Yennefer asked. Visenna looked at the raven-haired a bit then nodded.

“Let’s not stray from what important at the moment, shall we? What can you tell me about the situation?”

…

It’s been a full week, Ciri regained her strength enough to train, fights or whatever to keep her mind off the truth.

The girl became quiet after the alliance of mages and a medic ‘resurrected’ her. Among days the scenery itself peels the skin off her beating heart and at nights she cried herself to sleep while cocooning herself in the corner of Geralt’s chamber.

At the third Yennefer silently walked in and sit down with her, saying nothing and just be there.

Sometimes Ciri would wander around to find Visenna sitting and looking out at the mountain pass, clutching the brooch in her hands, if Ciri honed her hearing she would catching the sound of the druid’s sobs in silent. One such occasion she would even approach the druid and sat with her but said nothing, when she leaned onto Visenna’s shoulder she felt the weight on both of their shoulders dissipate a bit. One day the druid would put a hand on the top of her head, running it slowly to the nape of her neck, again and again, consoling their broken hearts.

“What are you going to do next?” Ciri asked on one such occasion, her head rests on the druid’s shoulder and breathing in the earthly remedy scents.

“The same; traveling, healing, herbs picking…” Visenna whispered and trailed off for a moment, comfortable and mourning silence fell around them, then she continues “…and find a way to fix all of this.” The strawberry-blonde indicating Ciri.

“I’m fine if there’s none, just so you know.”

“You?” such a short and precise.

“Might taking up contracts for a while, based on what Vesemir said we may yet have busy years after this.” Ciri replied in a resigned tone.

“You can always choose for yourself.” Visenna said to her but Ciri only chuckled dryly.

“There’s always an option…” eyes of the ashen-haired falls on Avallac’h down at the courtyard.

Visenna grabs the woman’s hand and squeezing it lightly “Whatever you do, promise to come back once a year? For him.”

Ciri nods solemnly and sitting with her lover’s mother for the rest of the evening.

…

“…why don’t you stay at my house in Vengerberg?” Yennefer asked her after a bath as the sorceress is combing the ashen tresses.

“I don’t want to impose.” Ciri said quietly while leaning into her mother’s touches.

Yennefer flairs her nose and snorted, prodding Ciri’s head lightly with a loving smile yet her violet orbs darken “Don’t be silly Duckling. What’s mine are yours as well, but if you do feel uncomfortable living a lazy yet safe life with your mama in a city…you can always swing by from time to time, take a break from your heroine adventures and whatnot.”

The two chuckles along for a short moment before the silence falls around them yet again; the loss of the White Wolf from their lives left a nasty scar. Yennefer discarded the comb and uses her fingers to rake through Cirilla’s mousy-ashen tresses.

“I’ll not pleading or forcing you to stay or live a life you don’t want, but please, my daughter, whatever you do or wherever you go; take care of yourself.” The sorceress kisses the top of Ciri’s head, heard the girl sighed “I cannot bear the loss of you, too.” Her last sentence sounded weak and quiet, and she felt Ciri’s hand covered hers, squeezing it firmly to ground the sorceress’ wild emotions that are quelling inside her smaller frame, evidently shines through her violet eyes.

“I will be there in Belletyne. Every year, I promise.” Ciri looked up from her position as she craned her neck backward, locking her starry emerald eyes with the sorceress’ fierce yet soft ones.

Yennefer produces a smile, sincere and loving to her ugly-one and kisses the girl’s forehead softly, filled with proud adoration and loving of a mother.

“I shall hold you to that, my little swallow.”

…

“Hey, Puke.” Lambert greeted as he plopped himself down on the slope beside her, ignoring the annoying look at the nickname on Ciri’s face.

Cirilla sighed and just let him slip, this time, and returning to her gazing into the shadowy silhouette of the Blue Mountains at dusk.

“How was it?” his question means nothing and everything, Ciri exhales with shudders.

“I wanted to die…” Ciri whispered out.

Lambert nods solemnly and understandably at her answer.

“But I think that would be a disgrace to his memories,” Eskel interjected as he sits on the other side of Ciri, looking ahead while saying so.

“He lives on, with us.” Lambert turned his head to see Vesemir stood behind them, placed his hands on Ciri’s head and his, despite all the verbal spats and pranks he pulled on the old witcher Lambert was no different than the rest of his brother, his family; Vesemir is like a father they’ve never asked for and yet seems to be the best they could’ve asked for.

“Come now, you lots. The pyre is ready.” The mentor urged them off toward the secluded valley that witchers of the Wolf’s keep used to hold a ceremonial funeral for their brethren.

…

All of the friends and friends-of-friends stood around in half-circle in front of the pile that has The White Wolf’s shirt, trouser and not much else, not even a body for them to say goodbye to.

Mousesack; rescued from Nilfgaardian outpost by Jaskier and Regis, approached the funeral pyre and with his magic, he lit the flame.

“I’ve known Geralt since…decades ago. He’s a man that many can only dream of; brave, kind, loyal, and good.” The Skelligan druid produces a beautifully weaved tapestry and lifts it with magic then drape it on top of Geralt’s clothes “From Jarl Crach an Craite and his family, he sends his deepest condolences. Farewell, old friend.”

The next is Lambert and Shani, both approached the fire and bows with respect before step back to their spots, and Lambert says “Pretty-Boy taught me as much as Vesemir. He’s a good teacher and brother…I’ll be missing the drinks we had.”

Jaskier slowly approaches the fire, his usual playful and coy attitude turned into grim and quiet, he takes a copy of _Blue Pearl_ by Essi Daven out of his satchel and says with a sad smile “The day my life changed is the day I almost died by Geralt’s side, tied up by Filavandrel’s elves.” The bard’s emotions seep in within every word as he tries to control his inner turmoil “Since then we became friends, brothers almost, I’ve witnessed many things about Geralt in life that many would be jealous of. Ballads and Poems that I have spent my entire life composed never came close to reality regarding the life and adventure of a man, thus he never wanted to be called as such, as noble as Geralt of Rivia.” He opened the last page of the book and read the verbs out loud, elicits tears from many “These words were composed by a very dear frien- no…a sister of mine. She died after finished this expression of love to a certain someone, and now I would like to let it accompany my dearest friend Geralt in his last journey.” He tosses the book into the fire “Goodbye, my friend.” Jaskier gritted through tears at the last sentence as he quickly wiped them off his eyes.

Eskel and Triss are the next as they repeat the same manners but only Triss stepped back. Eskel tugged a band of reddish fabric off of his jacket “Gar and I became friends after I came to Kaer Morhen. We shared hatred for our mothers,” his words struck a knife into Visenna’s heart but the druid ignored it “trained together and somehow we became inseparable. He’s…he…is…” Eskel’s words fall short as he loses control and after a moment he regained them “…my brother.” He raises a fabric forward “He gave this to me after I got passed the Trials, as a token of our promise to always have each other’s back.” Eskel released the fabric and let the wind take it into the raging flame “I failed.” His head hung low and Triss lightly runs her hand up and down his back to console.

After a long pause, Yennefer is the next to walked out “Geralt came to me with a request to save his friend’s life. I’ve never met a witcher before and to see one who cares about others was weird.” The sorceress conjured up a magically-preserved violet rose, inhaling its scent and says “After Rinde, I took him to my house, we lived together for a month; then he left with only this rose as a goodbye.” Her face contorted a bit, Ciri approached her mother and drapes her arm at the sorceress’ waist. Yennefer looked at her duckling and continues “We met again years after, he refused to give me what I want at the time but what I need.” The sorceress draped her free arm around the taller ashen-haired girl “Our love was short-lived and painful but it was the best thing that has ever happened to me. He gave me the treasure no kings nor queens have possessed.” Yennefer kisses the petals of the rose and levitates it into the fire “Farewell, my love. I’ll keep your heart safe with my life.” She whispered and only Ciri could hear it; the Ashen haired hugs the Raven tightly, sobs quietly into the older one’s neck.

Visenna and Vesemir are the next in line, they both lingered at the fire while Vesemir places a dagger onto the pyre and Visenna places a toy beside it.

“I've raised him since he’s a babe, he’s the best I have ever taught.” Vesemir cannot say anything more as he is sure that he couldn’t control the surge of emotions inside him.

Visenna just silently stares into the fire, her uncontrolled tears rolled down her cheeks. She has advantages of being prepared for this moment than anyone here, yet the reality hits her hard and quenched her fragile heart near the point of crumbling “…I’m sorry, my son.” She whispered into the fire and places another item there; Korin’s family crest “He asked me to give it to you.”

Ciri is the last, she stood in front of the fire for the longest time. Tears running down her cheeks but she bit her lips to stops the quivering.

Ciri tugged out the bent-brooch and hold it in her hand, almost crushed it due to her enhanced strength “The moment you found me in the woods is when I knew I found my home.” Ciri plays with the brooch for a while then tossed it into the blazing funeral pyre “Forever yours.”

The gatherings stood in silence, paying respect to Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier sits on the nearest boulder and setting his lute’s strings, caressing some melodies and then clearing his throat.

“ _The Call of the White Wolf…Is Loudest at the Dawn…_ ” his voice rings like a Bird of Paradise flowing along with the tune he played.

“ _Call of Stone heart, is broken and alone…_ ” the sun slowly descends behind the ridges of Blue Mountains.

“ _Born of Kaer Morhen…Born of no love._ ” Vesemir glances at Visenna at the lyric, sees her face contorted to the lie in the bard’s song; a lie no one can change, not even herself. Ciri grabs the druid’s hand tightly, telling without saying that she was there and at least one person knows the truth.

“ _For the song,_ ” Jaskier hums along “ _of the White Wolf…_ ” the bard pause for a bit “ _Will always, been sings…Alone._ ” All that stood there snort inside, knowing the truth was the opposite. Jaskier’s fingers picked up the pace and the melody of his lute enchanted them all; filled with admiring, sadness, anger, love, loneliness, contend and longing.

Ciri looked at Avallac’h, who stood stoically at the side and make up her mind. Tomorrow, she will make a decision.

As night falls, those that stood there saw only sets of glowing eyes; three amber-gold pairs and one set of emerald from the newly mutated witcheress lit the darkened scene

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...something begins.
> 
> See you again in the last installment.
> 
> \- DM.


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